


Absolution

by nan00k



Series: Rehabilitation [2]
Category: Halo, Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:22:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 180,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan00k/pseuds/nan00k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After escaping execution, the AIs and their underprepared rescuers seek out the only souls in the universe who will help them: a rag-tag group of simulation troops. Clearly, this is the best plan ever…of all time. Sequel to Salvation, AU after S8.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second book in the Rehabilitation series, sequel to Salvation. Dr. Livingston and Agent Iowa have escaped the USS Falcon with the AIs and have aimed their sights on getting the AIs into the hands of the only people they believe they can trust—namely, a ragtag group of simulation soldiers in the middle of no where. Clearly, this is the best plan ever…of all time.
> 
> This story is considered AU (an alternative universe) after RvB Season 8! Seasons 9 and 10 (or any subsequent seasons) do NOT apply to the universe of this story or its prequel! If you have not yet read "Salvation," I would highly recommend you do, since a bulk of the initial plot here will make no sense at all, nor will the cast list. The story can be found on my profile page.
> 
> :) Enjoy!
> 
>  **Warnings** : implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : _Red vs. Blue_ © RoosterTeeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

_Simulation Outpost 17  
Code Name "Valhalla" _

Valhalla was a pretty nice operation. The scenery was breathtaking. There was an ample supply of water for once. The mountains loomed with familiarity and it was quiet. Nice and peaceful.

 _Peaceful_ was a relative word, sure, but Simmons wasn't going to nitpick it too often.

It had been seven months since they had gotten back to the simulation base. It had taken both Red and Blue squads a few weeks to get back on their feet, simply due to exhaustion and an intense uncertainty over their situation. Simmons knew he wasn't the only one who was afraid of the UNSC or Freelancer to sudden reappear in their lives, guns blazing. They were only partially certain that their involvement in what happened to the Meta would be catalogued as less important compared to the Freelancers.

That assumption must have been correct, considering that two weeks passed and no UNSC pelicans arrived with soldiers to arrest either Red or Blue teams. As the uncertainty dissipated, Simmons felt a cool sense of relief. Maybe they would finally escape the chaos of Freelancer and all its secrets without suffering a violent, unnecessary demise. That was a positive.

And so, with the disappearance of secret military organizations from their lives, some normalcy returned…specifically, the familiarity of Red vs. Blue.

They were all missing people. Doc had managed to extend his deployment there, but he wasn't a Red or a Blue. The Reds were missing Donut and Lopez, whom Sarge was rebuilding. The Blues obviously… they didn't have Church.

At least the Blues were able to gain a new teammate in the aftermath of everything that the Meta had brought them. Washington wasn't just a new teammate, however.

He was good. Like, the best soldier in the valley now. Like… actually _capable_. Simmons preferred to think that his own abilities were hindered by incapable teammates (specifically Grif), but there was no way any of the Reds or Blues could hold a candle to the ex-Freelancer now assuming Church's identity on the roster.

It was tricky, and it took both the Reds and Blues to figure out how to make the lie stick when their Commands finally found them and demanded a situation report. Having Washington there and identifying him as Washington was a giant _NO_ as far as the simulation soldiers were concerned. Wash was all too willing to lie about his identity on record to avoid getting his real name out there. The only catch was that Freelancer records might indicate that Church had actually been an AI, but so far, no one at Command had questioned his presence.

Simmons wasn't sure why Sarge was going along with the cover up, since it was for the sake of the Blues in particular, but there was an unspoken acknowledgement of the few facts they did all agree on.

If Freelancer tracked Wash down, naturally the Reds and Blues would be targeted, too. They were all sick and tired of the messes that came along with Freelancer. They were done with it all, as far as Simmons could tell. Wash was a Freelancer, sure, but he had a thousand reasons why he wanted to go AWOL. For the Reds and Blues, as much as having a former enemy living amongst them was uncomfortable, they knew it was in their best interests to play along with his charade.

Besides… it wasn't like they could blame him. Even Tucker, who could hold a grudge, or Sarge who might use Wash's past against him—they all knew what had happened to the surly Freelancer. Simmons couldn't exactly hate him for what he did simply because, man, Wash was an unlucky son of a bitch.

A little sympathy wasn't too much to offer him, Simmons thought privately. He knew the others must have thought similarly. No one would ever admit it, though.

And so the fighting recommenced. It wasn't really fighting; Simmons wasn't sure if they had ever truly fought at all. The peace of the valley was disturbed by spontaneous long periods of gunfire and occasional grenades going off. But there weren't any casualties. In the last six months, Simmons was relatively certain that the worst to have happened was Grif getting shrapnel in his leg.

The minor wound caused an odd backlash of Red and Blue interaction, with Wash actually apologizing for causing the injury from a too-well-placed grenade. Doc managed not to botch the easy extraction and Grif recovered rather quickly. He tried to milk the injury as much as he could, but even when they could all see he was fine now, both sides agreed to a mild truce so their teams could recuperate.

It was odd. And probably against protocol. Simmons didn't like breaking the rules, but even he could see that this was the better alternative. They were only simulation soldiers, so he couldn't fathom why they had been given actual guns with bullets at all.

The Blues were dirty and rotten, but they were…the Blues. They had been through just as much as the Reds had, though a bitter side of Simmons wanted to complain that it had been the _Blues'_ problems that had caused their mutual involvement in the Meta shenanigans…

It was all moot at that point. The fighting (well, the serious fighting) was over and the goal of both teams seemed to have come down to alleviating boredom by stealing each other's stuff. Simmons could live with that. Better than dying in a cold, snowy wasteland, he mused.

After several months of the same old non-fighting, Simmons was glad for Sarge to have gotten them up for a sit-rep. Their sergeant's exuberance was a bit alarming (sort of like when Wash faked smiles; it was always a warning sign for danger), but anything out of the ordinary would be welcomed. Simmons knew they could use some novelty.

"Alright, men," Sarge began as he walked in front of them. He looked specifically at Grif, voice going higher in sarcastic pitch. "It's so nice to see that you finally got up off your lazy ass, Grif. You're an inspiration to all other worthless dirtbags out there."

"It's like the crack of dawn," Grif whined. "This is barbaric."

"It's like ten in the morning!" Simmons exclaimed.

"Like I said, crack of dawn."

"The crack of dawn is five in the morning," Simmons told him icily. "I did get up then. I always do."

Grif _stared_ at him. "…Are you Satan?" he asked.

"Enough!" Sarge shouted, interrupting Simmons before he had the chance to reply. "We had an important delivery this morning."

"Is it another robot? I'm not sure Lopez would be happy about being replaced," Grif said sardonically. Simmons elbowed him hard.

Simmons started to ask a real question, but stopped short when an arm sudden wrapped itself around his waist that pulled him straight into Grif's side and another armored person.

" _Heeey_ , fellas!"

Grif yelled and fell forward out of the grasp he was in. Simmons spun around and gawked at the new soldier standing just a few inches away.

"Donut!" he exclaimed.

Donut, pink armor and all, waved cheerfully. "Hey!"

Simmons was speechless. Donut—they knew he had recovered and would be coming back. But so soon? It had been only a few days since Sarge had gotten the message about their missing teammate. How Donut survived his encounter with Washington was still a mystery to everyone, but Simmons was glad their friend made it through.

Astonished, Simmons stared at the new arrival. "I didn't think you were coming back for another week. Are you okay?"

"I sure am!" Donut replied, cheerful. He flexed his arms goofily. "Took six months of intensive rehab and physical therapy, but I can almost feel all my toes again! It's great! Let it never be said that universal healthcare isn't totally worth it."

"Man, we thought you were dead for sure," Grif said, sounding impressed. Simmons sort of was. Donut was either a hardy bastard, or a lucky one. Probably just lucky.

Sarge sighed loudly. "There's a difference between actually being dead and being _left_ for dead, gentleman. Heh heh." He gestured at Donut, sounding almost proud. "Princess here made a full recovery, so now the Red team can assume its ascent back to domination over the basin!"

While Donut preened under the attention, Simmons withheld a sigh at his commander's exuberance. While having the extra manpower was a bonus… but it wasn't that simple.

"With all due respect, sir, even if we had _twenty_ Donuts here—," Simmons began.

"Knock on wood," Grif muttered.

"I do that all the time!" Donut said cheerfully.

" _Ugh_."

Simmons glared at both of them. "—the Blues have their own secret weapon that we have nooo hope in ever defeating," he finished. He wasn't one for team pessimism, but the realist in him couldn't ignore that little fact.

"What's the secret weapon?" Donut asked, surprised.

Grif and Simmons looked at each other before looking back at him. "Wash," they said in unison.

"Who's that?" Donut asked.

Even Sarge paused at that. Donut…hadn't remembered who had shot him. While revealing the fact that their new rival was the same guy who had nearly killed Donut would probably lead Donut to want revenge (that incident with Tex and the grenades came readily to mind), the Reds who had been aware of what had become of Donut's attacker held back undoubtedly for the same unspoken reason.

Wash wasn't a bad guy. He had been. But… Simmons shifted uneasily.

"Uh…a new Blue guy," he began, awkwardly. "Pretty intense. Way better than any of the soldiers in the basin."

Sarge scoffed loudly. "Don't encourage the enemy!" he ordered. He waved his shotgun in the air. "They may have a diabolical source of firepower now that can cut through our formations like a hot knife through lard, but given the time to properly prepare ourselves for this new threat, our forces will be able to dominate those rotten Blues once and for all!"

"Oh, joy," Grif muttered.

Donut had looked like he had been listening, but the pink soldier abruptly looked around them.

"…Where's the flag?" he asked at length.

"The Blues have it," Grif sighed.

Donut hesitated. "And where're the ammo supply crates?" he asked, looking around their bare front yard.

Simmons also sighed. "The Blues have it."

"…Where's the Warthog's front bumper?"

"The Blues have it," Grif and Simmons replied.

"Why do they have all of our stuff?" Donut exclaimed, shocked.

"They have Wash on their team," Grif said.

Donut paused. "Oh."

"Yeah, it's been _that_ kind of six months here."

"But we're facing great change! A change headed toward greatness!" Sarge pumped his shotgun and quickly got back into his usual pace. "I spent all week planning an effective strategy to retrieve our flag and Simmons' honor! I call it the _Grif Fodder Explosaganza_!"

Grif radiated an intense glare. "Gee, I wonder what my role in this plan is."

"Oh, shut up, and take it," Simmons said, grinning under his helmet. They were finally back in business; even if they were doomed to fail, at least their team was reassembled.

"Ooh, tell him, Simmons!" Donut cheered.

…Or maybe it wasn't such a good thing. Simmons shook his head and tried to follow the plan details.

**0000**

There weren't too many safe havens in Valhalla. It was surrounded by steep cliffs that were difficult to climb. The landscape was beautiful, sure, and without large armies or cities nearby, it was…docile. Almost untouched, aside from the missing wildlife. The sea's waves were an ambient background on the beach and inland had the waterfall.

Wash found a quiet place up near the cliffs that he was certain the others hadn't found yet. Or if they had, they knew not to follow him up there. It was further up along the ridge that overlooked the waterfall. Lying on the grass, he could stare up at the sky for hours. It was sort of annoying, how static it all was. They received infrequent rain or storms, so it was almost perpetual spring in the valley. He supposed that was a good thing. The clouds got monotonous after a while.

He went up there a lot, whenever they weren't "fighting" the Reds. Weekends were non-fighting days and Thursday was Sarge's Recreational Warfare nights. They generally played poker at either Red or Blue base then. Wash didn't hate it, even if it made no sense to him at all. He supposed that's why they were the Reds and Blues, at any rate.

Caboose and Tucker had been especially annoying, so Wash was glad he had the time to escape to his quiet retreat. Sometimes he had to trick Caboose into remaining behind, but today, the slow soldier was thankfully already distracted.

They were busy…celebrating.

Wash clenched his fists and tried not to give into the urge to start moving again. Anxiousness in his limbs made it difficult to stay still.

They had gotten the news yesterday and he had been fighting that urge to run or workout ever since. The raw buzz in his legs and arms…it felt like adrenaline, or nervousness. But there was nothing to be nervous about.

The stupid Red soldier—the pink one—was back. Whoop-de-doo. The Blues should have been upset (not that having the new guy would help the Reds win, although) that their enemies were reassembling. That would be the _logical_ reaction.

No… Caboose had gotten Doc to help make a cake. Tucker had been excited, claiming that Donut was the best clothing washer in the whole valley. The Blues paid the Red solider to do their laundry. _What?_ Wash had just shaken his head at them.

None of them made any sense, including the Reds. Simmons had just come over and told them. Like they were real neighbors and they were sharing gossip about their families. It…was so, so weird.

Wash got out of there before he went nuts. They were _all_ nuts. Having Donut back wasn't bad, but…

Fingers gouging the dirt, Wash refused to dwell on it. He came here for peace and quiet. Maybe a nap. If he could just catch a few hours sleep without worrying about Caboose setting the base on fire while making a late night snack, maybe the tension would go away—

"Hello!"

"Kill me," Wash groaned, closing his eyes again.

"That's not good to hear," said the purple armored medic who loomed overhead. His voice was painfully pleasant. Wash could hear the man sitting down a few feet away, which made him scowl. "Did you know suicidal thoughts are more prevalent among soldiers outside of an active war zone than on the frontlines?"

Of all the damn people to seek him out… How the hell was Doc so stealthy anyway? This happened too often. "Shut up."

There was silence for only a short period of time, unfortunately. "…This is a quiet spot," Doc said. "Needed time to think about things?"

Wash opened his eyes to glare over at the medic. "No, Doc, I was just hoping someone who doesn't know how to take 'no' for an answer would drop by for a visit."

"…Was that sarcasm?"

"Of course not."

"Okay, since I…" Doc stopped and made a quiet exasperated sound, as if he were disciplining a child. "Wash."

Wash ignored him pointedly. He wanted peace and quiet. Doc was definitely less loud than Caboose was, but he was also far more annoying, for reasons even Wash didn't quite understand.

Doc started to tap his fingers against his armored knee. "You know, Simmons is probably right that Donut would probably forgive you if you ever introduced yourself properly," he said abruptly.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Wash demanded, trying to shift back into a comfortable position. Having someone sitting there wasn't making it easy.

"Well, that's what you're upset about, isn't it?"

A deep growl built up in Wash's chest. "I swear to God, if I open my eyes and you're still sitting there—"

"You've been on edge ever since the Reds said Donut was coming back," Doc interrupted, his calmness grating. "Though I don't think they shared that information on purpose, since Sarge was upset that Simmons told the Blues, but it's good we had the chance to prepare a welcome back!"

Oh, he was surrounded by idiots. "You all fail at the concept of 'you're on different teams,'" he snapped.

"I don't think anyone really cares about that. I'm not one to get involved in that debate, though," Doc replied, a shrug in his voice. It was a similar shrug that the others seemed to share concerning this topic. Idiots. "Anyway, you got really upset when you heard about him coming back from medical leave."

That made Wash sit up. "I did not!" he exclaimed.

Doc, for all of his faults, never knew to back down when confronted with danger. "You punched out a window when you found out," he pointed out simply.

"I was moving a chair and it got in my way. Shut up."

"You also threatened to hit Caboose when he kept talking about Donut coming back," Doc continued.

The dark feeling in the pit of his stomach didn't go away. "Seriously?" Wash began, clenching his fists. "Shut. The fuck. Up."

Doc got giddy over that reaction. "Ah, ha! And now, you're agitated when I brought it up," he said, oblivious as always.

"Only because you won't shut the hell up!" Wash groaned and flopped back onto the ground. "God, I hate you."

"I know I only recently got my certificate in psychological counseling—"

Wash snorted. "You got it online after twelve hours of 'training.'"

"It's still recognized in several outer colonies!" Doc insisted. He settled back down, intent on continuing his inane conversation. "As I was saying, I'm new at this, but I can clearly see that you're struggling with guilt over this whole thing."

"Guilt?" Wash repeated, now insulted. "Over _what_?"

"You _did_ shoot Donut and leave him for dead."

Doc couldn't feel the cold tickle in Wash's stomach. Wash sort of wished he couldn't either.

"Yeah?" he prompted, making it a threat. Unfortunately, none of these idiots recognized real threats.

"The lack of empathy is unusual," Doc said dryly. Wash paused; was that sarcasm? "Wash, my point is, _it's okay_. Donut said he wasn't bitter about it."

That shouldn't have mattered, and it didn't matter. Wash glared at the other man behind his visor. "I was doing my job. He got in my way, as did you, and I'm not about to apologize to any of you for that," he said hotly. "Go. Away."

He turned his head to glare at the sky. It was enough that he had to learn the patience for handling Caboose's idiocy and Tucker's nonstop chatter. Doc could just show up whenever he wanted and he was all together worse than the Blues. Irritating, chatty, ignorant—and never knew when to _stop_.

Wash exhaled sharply and tried to ignore the ever-present medic who hadn't moved.

It was bullshit. He wasn't upset that the stupid Red soldier came back. Who cared? Wash didn't have regrets over missions. Freelancer weeded that out of all of them early on.

Sure, it bit at his conscience when he realized that he was being given shelter by the very people he terrorized with the Meta, but…they were idiots. That justified it. To a degree.

He didn't feel guilty over anything. It wasn't logical to.

"I forgive you, too," Doc said, shattering the silence. "For, you know, kidnapping me and terrorizing me for two weeks."

"I don't _care_ if you forgive me," Wash snapped. "I'm not apologizing."

"I know." Doc leaned forward on his knees out of the corner of his eye. "But I still think it's important that you hear that."

Wash grit his teeth. He didn't need to hear it—any of it. Doc could pretend to be a psychologist—hell, he was already pretending to be a medic—all he wanted. It didn't mean anything.

It didn't mean anything at all.

" _Why_ are you still here?" Wash finally asked, irritated that he even had to.

"Because…" Doc sounded thoughtful. "Well, you also looked a bit lonely."

"I'm surrounded by idiots all day long," Wash said, scathingly. "How could I possibly be _lonely_?"

"You can be lonely in the middle of a crowded room, Wash."

Chest tightening, Wash watched as uniform clouds drifted overhead. The sky seemed further away now and the body next to him ever closer.

Hearing that made him feel claustrophobic. He didn't know why.

"You got that from the Internet, too," he accused.

Doc sniffed. "Only part of it."

That almost made Wash laugh. Almost. He tucked his hands behind his head and did his best to enjoy the invaded peace and quiet.

Sharing space with idiots, having to deal with Doc, being forced to spend days like this staring at a never-changing landscape…

"If this is supposed to be my personalized Hell, I guess it could be worse," he muttered.

Realistically…

Wash smiled grimly.

It could have been so, so much worse.

"Now, go away."

"Party-pooper."

"Ugh."

 

* * *

  
**End** _**Chapter 1** _ **.**  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, Ada and Iowa enjoy a fun little field trip.
> 
>  **A/Ns** :  
> -I have no idea if they have the a form of the Internet in this universe. Just pretend that they do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, Ada and Iowa have some fun with acclimating to their situation, Delta has a suggestion, and then of course, all Hell breaks loose.
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

"No. Absolutely, positively, _no_."

"Ada, there really isn't any way to avoid this."

"Agent Iowa—Jason—whatever your name is—I am NOT doing this."

"We're landing in an hour. Put it on."

Dr. Ada Livingston gestured wildly at the corpse on the cabin's floor, face alight with anger. "I am _NOT_ stealing the armor of a _DEAD_ man!" she exclaimed.

Iowa took a deep breath, but that did little to curb his temper. "You will, or _YOU'LL_ be dead, too! You cannot possibly survive out there without a suit!"

"There _is_ oxygen!" she insisted, pointing at the windows and the moon they were rapidly approaching.

"We have no idea what the hell we're getting into here, Ada, Christ!" Iowa exclaimed. He hadn't wanted to scare her, but this wasn't up for discussion. "These guys are supposed to have gone rogue, like, five times in the last decade. They killed Washington, Wyoming, the Meta, Agent Texas—I mean, sure, they're only test soldiers, but cripes! You don't kill _four_ Freelancers and not be pretty damn tough."

Ada took a deep breath and tried to use reason. "I-I am a civilian," she said. Iowa withheld an exasperated sigh.

"If they don't have a problem killing superior officers, what the heck makes you think they'll think twice about killin' a civilian—a woman on top of it?" Iowa shot back, irritated from lack of sleep and nerves. He knew she would be upset over Montana's corpse, but frankly, she didn't have a choice. "Put the damn suit on. That's an order."

He knew that was a mistake to say when the psychologist _glared_ at him. "You're not my commander," she snapped.

Iowa gripped the side of his head with both hands. " _ADA_!" he exclaimed. He hastily pointed at the dead soldier. "My God, _look_. We'll get bury the body, okay? I had to kill him. He was blocking me from getting the ship. And he was a Freelancer. You can't tell me you aren't glad another one is dead."

Ada huffed and looked torn between tears and anger, but thankfully, she stopped arguing. Iowa remained firm and waited at the front of the ship until the psychologist marched by him, breathing unsteadily with emotions that had nothing to do with her fears over their landing.

Before returning to the pilot's chair, Iowa dismantled the suit for her. He wasn't that cruel to make her have to touch the dead body. It was tense inside the shuttle as she sat in the corner with the AIs, watching. Once turbulence picked up, Iowa returned to the front and resumed manual control, glad for the distraction.

Nexus IV's smallest moon loomed as a blue and green beacon. While the planet was populated, the moon was reserved for military tactics and operations…such as the simulation base. It was also home to various other alien ruins on the far side. It was a busy place, for such a small little rock.

Iowa ignored the sound of Ada fighting to fit on boots and pieces of armor. He got them into orbit and then entered the atmosphere over top the region they needed to get to. It had a stronger atmosphere than most UNSC ships would have, but nothing lethal. Iowa didn't fancy a moment where they'd have to take their helmets off, of course.

They landed within twenty minutes; Seven-Four-Niner would have made fun of his parking job if she were still alive. Iowa got them down and the bumps weren't lethal, no matter the dirty look Ada sent him once he stepped into the back. She had the suit on mostly, except for the helmet. She looked horribly tiny; she disappeared into the beige with her darker skin, too.

The shuttle's ramp lowered loudly. It was almost shocking to hear the wind whipping across the grassy field behind them. It was serene, with all those clouds against a stark blue sky. Iowa took a second to take it all in. An odd place to be fought over, but that's what war was, he figured.

They were on a large plateau that led west out to a valley and the sea, where their map indicated was the location of the simulation bases. It was a good two miles out from the valley, but Iowa hadn't wanted to just drop in among unknown soldiers. He didn't trust a single one of them. The distance would ensure that if they did run intro trouble, they could count on their ship being safely hidden.

It was still a decent trip out. Ada hadn't been pleased by the distance, but didn't say anything. She was still upset about the suit, which she looked awkward and uncomfortable in. She wordlessly endured, thankfully. Iowa felt bad, but he pushed the sympathy aside. He had to make sure they completed the mission; this wasn't the time or place to act like it wasn't a military operation.

…That was easier to think and more difficult to act upon. Iowa fought a wave of unease as he watched Ada put her helmet on, look around stiffly in clear discomfort over her now-altered vision, and then went to grab the AIs. If she had just been another soldier, he would have ignored the way she was walking. But… she wasn't just another soldier.

"You're limping," he said. Ada flinched and made as if to shield her leg from his sight. Not a bullet wound, but clearly it was hurting her.

"It's nothing," she said too quickly. She straightened, sending him a look that just dared him to push it further before turning and walking out down the ramp to the ground below.

Man, did she remind him of old teammates. Stubborn asses, the lot of them. Iowa let her pass and didn't try to drag the truth out of her. Ada was stronger than he had expected, but her stubbornness was going to get them both into trouble in the long run.

"…this is gonna be one heck of a trip…" he murmured, grabbing his gun and a collapsible shovel from the emergency supply kit on board. Sighing, he trudged out down the ramp after her.

**0000**

Committing treason would have been easier without a seventeen-hour gap in between the act and their end goal to dwell on said-treason. Ada Livingston had spent the majority of that time with arms wrapped around the massive AI containment unit that held all ten of Project Freelancer's remaining AI—well, all except their eleventh, Epsilon. She supposed she should have slept during that time. She knew they would hit the ground running, either metaphorically or literally.

Iowa had been helpful the entire time, or at least he tried to be, in his own way. He had given up encouraging her to get some rest, which only left them sitting in silence. Ada hadn't known what to say to him. She wanted to thank him—yet knew, perhaps he didn't deserve it. Not now.

He had planted Xi in the wrong spot and gotten O'Malley stuck inside his dead sibling's corpse, for all intents and purposes, irrevocably altering the aggressive AI. Iowa admitted to helping Freelancer sabotage the AIs' rehabilitation, right when it mattered most in front of the Chairman on the Oversight Sub-Committee, who were the AIs only chance at receiving mercy. Iowa had betrayed the AIs and Livingston alike.

She…couldn't trust him. Not that she didn't _want_ to. He had shown great courage and remorse. Perhaps he did deserve thanks. Ada didn't say anything either way; it was awkward to let the silence continue, but it hurt them both less than to blame him or forgive him outright.

They had to focus on the challenge that awaited them on the moon they were landing on. Ada was afraid, mostly for the AIs who had next to no control over what happened to them next, but did her best to hold back that emotion. She had to be levelheaded.

Which was the only reason why she allowed Iowa to force her to wear a dead man's suit of armor. _Freelancer_ armor. Not only robbing from the dead, she was going to be wearing the repulsive iconic imagery of the very people they were running from. If the AIs saw her wearing it… it would be very unpleasant for them, too.

But Iowa was right. They couldn't trust their chances on facing a genial audience with the simulation troopers at Outpost 17. Ada bit her tongue and put the armor on, which was a heavy, heavy reminder of everything they were fleeing.

She had to be strong for her patients—and for herself. There would be no excuses otherwise.

Iowa got them down to the moon's surface in one peace (the landing was a bit rough, but better than anything she could have done) and Ada did her best not to let her nervousness trip herself down the ramp. Walking out onto the grass was an odd experience.

Everything was idyllic. Blue skies, pure white drifting clouds, endless green grass… it reminded her of better times on Reach. Years in space and working on UNSC ships had left Ada with an odd aching feeling whenever she looked up and saw landscapes like this. It was a bit much to take in, especially now as she clung to the AI memory unit.

Underneath the helmet, Ada could see the varying temperature fluctuations and what she assumed was radar (useless, since it would only pick up registered enemy signatures). The visual feed showed a large portion of the field in front of her, however. The extra HUD displays surprisingly didn't impede her vision at all.

All the marvels of UNSC and Freelancer technology did little to make the sight that was in front of her any easier to handle. Ada was glad the Freelancer helmet hid her expression as Iowa finished layering dirt over the hole they had spent the last hour digging for the dead Freelancer. Iowa stood up with a quiet groan and threw the collapsible shovel away.

"Did you know him?" Ada asked quietly.

"Barely." Iowa stared at the dirt grave. He sounded indifferent, but that was just him. She could see how tense he was. "Montana came into the project way after me. No idea who he was as a person."

The dirt mound looked less like a grave and more like a pile of dirt. It wasn't right. This man hadn't been much different than Iowa, surely. Maybe he had wanted out of the Project, too.

"I didn't want this," Ada said, voice wavering before she realized she was as upset as she was.

"Don't cry. We're alive and we have the AI. We're safe," Iowa said, moving closer. He sounded reassuring, which made her feel worse. "At least for now."

Ada blinked behind her visor. She hadn't cried, but she wanted to. There was no time for it. "Are you sure this is the place?" she asked, louder, turning away to face the plateau.

"Yeah, according to this last report you had about them," he said. He pointed out at the distance, where the skyline seemed endless. "The main landmass on this moon is only four hundred kilometers across."

Her knee throbbed once. "That's a lot," she murmured.

"Not really," Iowa replied, amused. He glanced over her, helmet visor shielding his actual expression. "How's the suit handling?"

"I…guess alright? I don't know." Ada lifted her arms and winced. "I feel heavier."

Weren't the suits supposed to make things easier for soldiers? It felt like she was wearing armor—really, really heavy armor. She thought the suit made it feel like they _weren't_ wearing armor.

"Yeah, it does that," Iowa said. He chuckled lowly. "You look bad in beige, by the way."

Ada scowled. "Shut up," she snapped, grabbing hold the AI unit and hefting it into her arms. "Let's get moving."

Iowa nodded and reattached his gun to his back before walking after her. The sound of their heavy boots on the grass was muffled, but it was the only thing to hear other than distance wind on the coast.

Each step she took away from the shuttle made her heart beat faster. There was no telling what awaited them at the simulation bases. Iowa was right; those men were unknowns. Church had insisted they were all very simple men (he used the word "stupid" actually), but they had killed the Meta plus Agents Washington, Texas and Wyoming. For a bunch of simulation soldiers, they had a rather alarming track record for lethality.

But they were the AIs' only chance. Church could convince them as an old friend to at least give the weaker AIs shelter. For how long… Ada wasn't going to think in the long term like that. She knew they'd come around once Church talked to them. Delta would also be a voice of reason.

O'Malley and Sigma, however… Ada knew they'd have to take baby steps with those two. The Blood Gulch men most likely would see those particular AIs as threats (and for good reason), so she hoped to introduce the other non-problematic ones first, just to keep things calm. Sigma would probably be able to win the soldiers over. O'Malley…

Maybe they would be sympathetic. He was still severely unsettled, perhaps even permanently damaged. Maybe Ada could win him pity. It was his only shot.

First they had to get to the basin. Ada heard herself breathing before she noticed just how hard her lungs were working only fifteen minutes into their journey across the plateau. It was a flat surface, but with every step, Ada started to feel weaker. She couldn't even see where the basin began. It literally looked like they were going to be walking out across the grass forever. That didn't make her feel better.

_I can't be this out of shape_ , she thought in a daze. Her knee was hurting, but that was only part of her gradual loss of energy.

She struggled to adjust the AI unit, which also seemed to grow heavier. It wasn't just the containment unit, however. _Everything_ felt heavy.

Iowa had started off after her, but he was already several feet ahead walking, with no apparent discomfort. Ada couldn't fathom it; why was everything so damn _heavy_? It couldn't have just been her.

Taking a deep breath (how had she already gotten out of breath?), Ada stopped.

"I…wait," she said, arms shaking from the weight of the AIs.

Iowa stopped and turned to face her. "What's wrong?" He moved closer, reaching out for her arms. "Let me carry that."

Ada clung tighter to the containment unit. "I can't move the suit," she told him. She weakly tried to lift her leg, but it was like trudging through thick mud now. "I can't."

"What do you mean?" Iowa asked, surprised.

"It's so heavy," Ada said, wincing at the whine in her voice. "Is it always this heavy?"

Iowa was quiet for a moment. "It wasn't designed for you. These are specially suited," he said, considering her. "Not to mention you probably weigh like forty kilograms."

Ada scoffed. "Flatterer." She grimaced again as she tried to heft the unit in her arms up more. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" the ex-Freelancer asked, again surprised.

"Slowing you down."

As always, Iowa just laughed it off. "We ain't in a rush," he said. He jumped when she tried to move forward and wavered to the side. " _Whoa_ , okay. Take a break."

"It's only been twenty-minutes," Ada complained. She knew neither of them knew how to alter the suit, but this was pathetic. She was half tempted to take it all off and put it on later when they got to the basin…but then again, she'd have to carry all the parts to it.

"No need to get you exhausted now." Iowa looked to the west and nodded his head. "We might have a long way to go, so you need to be on top of your game."

The horizon wasn't getting any closer. Grimacing, Ada was glad the helmet hid her expression. "I feel useless," she said, gradually lowering the AIs to the ground.

"I couldn't handle the AIs by myself, if that helps any," Iowa replied, ever-cheerful. He went to sit down, probably just to make her feel better. "We can afford a few minutes. Just relax."

He wasn't correct to say that; they were quite possibly going to have Freelancers and UNSC soldiers raining down on them at any given moment. There was no time to just relax now.

Ada sat down anyway, promising herself only a few minutes. If they had to run, she'd trust Iowa to get away with the AIs, since even if she wasn't injured, he was undoubtedly faster. Right now, however, she listened to her body's plea for just a _little rest_ while the coast was still clear.

Eyes drifting from the horizon and their destination, Ada looked down at the containment unit lying between her legs. Slowly, she realized something important she should have already been doing.

Iowa, seated across from her, noticed when she grabbed the top of the unit to drag upright in front of her. Ada went straight for the control panel, which probably surprised the soldier.

"What are you doing?" he asked, frown in his voice.

Ada focused on the control panel. "Checking up on my patients."

"Is that _safe_?"

"I have no idea, honestly. I'm still worried about how Omega's doing," she replied. She touched the one light she had specifically remembered to know. It flashed once. "Delta…are you there?"

There was a small pause, but the light flashed again. "Affirmative," the calm AI replied. He didn't sound alarmed, and Ada smiled behind her visor when the green AI abruptly appeared outside of the unit in holographic form. "Where are—ah. I see. We have already arrived."

Ada nodded. "You're all alright in there? How's Omega?"

Delta tilted his head at her. "Omega has been mostly quiet, but we are all alright. We have minimal contact with reality while in the containment unit, after all." He stopped and seemed to take interest in her specifically instead of their surroundings. "You are wearing Freelancer armor."

It was a good thing the others couldn't see her at that moment; the armor would have scared them more. "Yes," Ada sighed. "What about it?"

The AI in front of her again fell into quiet contemplation. Ada waited him out. "I can see myself being of more use while actively assist you without using this containment unit," he said.

Across from her, Iowa froze. Delta's comment made Ada stop, surprised. "…Y-you want to go into my suit?" she asked. That wasn't...possible, was it?

"Say what?" Iowa demanded.

Delta ignored him. "Certainly. I would be able to help you better from within there, Ada."

"But…" Ada frowned. "I thought you were opposed to implantation."

Something about his head tilt made her think he was amused by her comment. "It will never be as intricate as implantation was, but using the storage unit on your armor will grant me minimal connectivity to you through the suit. It won't be as unpleasant as true implantation, I promise."

"I…" Ada considered the suggestion. While she was nervous about trying to transfer the AI into another unit while out in the open like that, she did seen the logic in having him close by for help. Lord knew she would need it. But… "What about Iowa? He's the soldier…"

"I trust you more than I trust anyone else," Delta said simply. "I would prefer it to be you."

Iowa chuckled, earning him their attention. "Actually, I agree. Well, not about the trusting thing; _ouch_ , green man! I guess I deserve it, though." The silver armored man shrugged. "Seriously, though, he could help with the suit."

"What's wrong with it?" Delta asked, surprised.

"She can't move it really well," Iowa replied. He pointed at Ada. "It wasn't formatted for her."

Delta stared at her, obviously sorting the problem out internally. "Ah. Yes, I can assist with that."

"Are you sure?" Ada asked, concerned.

"Yes."

Ada bit her lip. While having an AI would (as far as she knew from reports) help her run her suit's subroutines, she didn't exactly fancy a second voice in her head. But this wasn't implantation, she reasoned. It was just letting him in the suit, which was not connected to her head. It wasn't the same. And if Delta trusted the risk of transplanting…she had to, too.

"…Okay." She reached for the control panel. "Preparing to extract."

Iowa helped her grapple with the various connectors. The input drive slid out of Delta's partition and Ada stared at it with mild horror; all of what Delta was existed there. It was a humbling device.

"And… the partition goes… here?" she asked, peering down at her hip, where there was an odd compartment slot she hadn't paid any attention to. All standard issue Freelancer armor had an AI slot, from when the Director still had grandiose plans for super soldiers.

Carefully handling Delta's partition, Iowa nodded. "Right. Steady." He slid the drive into place, as Ada held herself as still as she possibly could. It would probably only take a few seconds to—

The whole suit jumped. Ada yelped and fell backwards, though it was nothing on the outside that had affected it. She didn't feel anything else, but the HUD did get brighter. She could see another sigil that appeared in the corner, but she had no idea what it meant.

"Ada!" Iowa stood over her, hands reaching out again. "Are you okay?"

Only a little anxious, Ada went to touch her helmet. "Y-yes…" She froze and then lifted her arm up higher. It wasn't just her imagination. "The suit just…got…lighter?"

All at once, Delta's voice and presence returned. Ada was very glad it wasn't directly inside her head, but _whoa_ , it was right by her ear now. Iowa clearly heard it, too.

"I recalibrated the suit's personal weight distribution algorithm. Agent Iowa is correct to say each suit is personalized to its user for optimal efficiency, but it is not difficult to adjust the settings if you know how to," the AI announced. "How is your movement now, Ada?"

"…Okay." Slowly, she stood up. Her leg was stiff, but everything else was almost like the armor wasn't even there. She smiled. _This_ was what it was supposed to feel like, she rationalized. " _Much_ better, actually. Thank you, Delta."

"My pleasure." Delta appeared beside her as a projection. He looked downwards. "Your left knee is severely bruised and there may be swelling in the joint, but with proper leg rest, you can recover in a few days."

Iowa tensed. "What's wrong with your knee?" he demanded.

Ada paused. "I might have smashed it when I dropped down through an air duct," she admitted, only a little sheepish.

The soldier in front of her sputtered. "You did _what_?"

"Ah, so that's what that crash was," Delta commented, sounding intrigued.

Exhaling sharply, Ada gripped the back of her helmet as she faced both of them. "Sorry…" She knew she probably should have told Iowa about her leg before, but it wasn't like she was crippled.

Displeased, Iowa was kind enough not to push it. "You can still walk, right?" he asked.

"Obviously. Especially with the suit helping out now."

"Alrighty then, let's get—" Iowa froze, his eyes on the ground. He suddenly tilted his head. "Why'd it do that?"

"Why did what do what?" Ada asked, surprised. She looked down, but saw nothing new or alarming. Just the containment unit on the ground.

"The AI container," Iowa said. He pointed at it accusingly. "It just blinked."

Ada crouched and peered over the unit. "Um…nothing's wrong with it." That was a small miracle, after everything that had happened to it in the last day.

"No, it definitely just flashed on the one side." Iowa crouched down to the other side and rolled it forward to reveal another row of lights neighboring Delta's previous column. Iowa pointed at one of the light signifiers. "This one."

"It might have just been the light reflecting…" Ada stopped short when she noticed something about the little light bulb representing one of the AIs. "Wait."

"What is it?" Delta asked, hovering overhead.

Ada fought an uneasy chill that swept through her gut as she looked at the unit. "…If you're out here, that means that your compartment is empty. The light's been dimmed."

Delta must have been confused over what she was getting at. "Correct."

"Each of these lights signifies that an AI is stored in each partition," she continued.

"Also, correct."

Pointing at the dimmed light on the exposed side and then rolling it back to Delta's now-empty light, Ada could see they were both dimmed considerably compared to the other eight.

"Then why is this other light off?" she asked, voice louder than she thought.

Delta said nothing; he moved closer to inspect the unit, but it wasn't anything glaringly wrong with it. The lights were supposed to be bright. It was logical to assume that Delta's light was dimmed because he was no longer there, but it did not explain the second light. All ten had been on just minutes ago.

"…Are you sure that there were five on this side?" Iowa asked, voice tight.

"Yes!" Ada tried to look at both sides at once, fear rising. "Wait, just let me…okay, okay, Delta was removed on this side, so that leaves Beta, Gamma, and…"

She stopped short when her mental count finished and she found it impossible to continue to say it out loud.

It…it was impossible. She knew she had had to undo the locks temporarily, but… it was so sudden. It didn't seem possible.

But the dim little light proved that it was.

"Oh, no," she breathed, eyes wide behind her helmet.

"I do _not_ like the sound of that," Iowa growled. "What is it?"

Ada ran her fingers over the dimmed light, which all but screamed back up at her.

"Where is Omega?" she asked, trembling.

There was no AI in that slot. And if that was O'Malley's partition—

Iowa and Delta had both frozen at her question. Ada looked up slowly and found it difficult to breathe.

_Oh, no._

"Oh, dear," Delta supplied while the two humans looked at each other in horror.

Omega was loose.

  
**End** _**Chapter 2** _ **.**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, Wash hates patrol duty and our tourist-heroes continue to lose battles against their environment.
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -For real though, the planet/location for the Red vs. Blue storylines has a crap ton of stuff happening, considering the fact that we've never heard of them having to leave via shuttle to get to one of the other locations, like that desert, or Valhalla, or Sidewinder, or whatever. Lots of stuff going on for a place that's a military controlled planet/moon/location.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Ada and Iowa run around the countryside like chickens without their heads, the Reds and Blues have problems.
> 
>  **Warnings** : implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

_Blue Base_

It was almost peaceful. It was almost quiet. Patrol duty ( _Pet Duty_ , according to Caboose, who cheerfully pretended the nearby boulders were his pets every time he was on roster for it) was one of the few times Wash had time alone for himself when he wasn't self-exiled to the cliffs. It was a useless duty, really, but it kept both of his teammates away. It was almost lonely without other people around, but sometimes, it was good to get some quiet before dinner.

On the weekends, he never had to deal with the Reds sneaking around. It was the best part of his week, Wash reasoned, granted that nothing out of the ordinary broke up that peace. Even if Caboose came blundering out, or Tucker appeared with inane conversation, they were becoming part of the routine. Only one person could really interrupt it—

"Hey, Wash!"

Yes.  _Him_.

Wash let his head fall back against the wall of Blue base. "Fuck." Turning, he glared at the figure walking out into the light next to him. " _What_?"

Doc hefted his bag over his shoulder as he walked straight up to Wash without any hesitation at all. "Just wanted to say, 'see ya later.' I'm going over to Red base for next week," the medic told him cheerfully. Next to Caboose and Donut, Doc had the worst self-preservation instincts on the entire moon.

Of all of the people, Doc was the only one who really, really got under his skin. Wash didn't even have a reason why. The overly politically correctness? The veganism? The yoga? Whatever it was, Doc was just…

"Good riddance," Wash snapped, crossing his arms against his chest and trying to get comfortable against the wall. He didn't even bother doing perimeter sweeps anymore. Not on a Saturday, at any rate.

"That's not very nice," Doc said, wilting.

"I'm not very nice."

"I've noticed."

Wash looked up at the vague sarcasm; Doc was definitely easier to rile up than he had been months ago, which was both amusing and annoying. He stared at the medic pointedly, knowing that the blank face of his visor made the simulation troops uncomfortable.

As usual, Doc caved. "Sorry, that was mean, wasn't it?" he said, shoulders drooping again.

"Just leave already!" Wash exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air.

Doc ducked his head and hoisted his shoulder strap up again. "Alright, alright," he said, whining.  _Always_  whining. He started to move away, but stopped. "Oh, rats, I forgot my shampoo. Do you think the Reds would let me borrow some?"

Wash rolled his eyes and scooted down the wall to sit. "I have no idea. Go ask a Red."

"Right." Doc hesitated, his presence grating. He didn't leave right away, which only made Wash look back up at him in open irritation. "Well, see you Monday, I suppose. Try not to get anyone hurt, including yourself."

"Because getting hurt means we're going to end up in your care. I'm pretty sure that's the main reason why we all take great lengths to avoid injury," Wash muttered as the medic moved away.

"Still mean!" Doc called back as he headed off.

"Still don't care!" Wash shouted back, mockingly.  _God_ , he was so annoying.

He watched with disinterest as the medic walked off toward Red base. Even his walk was annoying. It was almost a relief to see him disappear behind the rocks. Wash sighed quietly to himself. The peace and quiet returned almost instantly.

He really didn't know what it was. He was getting used to the others. Caboose was like a mentally challenged little brother, honestly. Tucker was mostly bearable and a decent conversationalist. The Reds weren't too awful either. Doc just made Wash...irritated. Maybe it wasn't right to act on it, but Doc never made it easy to hold back.

It was almost five. Wash sighed and tapped his leg impatiently. He was supposed to be relieved of guard duty in just a few minutes, but he had a gut feeling his replacement wasn't going to show. As usual.

"Washington to Tucker." Wash scowled as a full minute ticked by with no response. That lazy little… "Tucker, are you listening to me?"

When there was work to be done, Doc was easy enough to bully into doing chores, but he was always bad at anything more complicated than cooking breakfast. Caboose couldn't even do that much, however, so the only competent one left was Tucker. Who, despite being a better friend than Wash had expected, was a lazy little shit who bucked any sort of responsibility that was put on him.

"Great." Wash stood up and brushed dirt off his leg. "I'm not doing his job."

He didn't even see the point in watch duty, honestly. He had insisted they kept it up when he first came there, simply because it felt like the right thing to do. After months of forcing the Blues to comply, however, Wash was beginning to see that it was pointless to keep up guard. The Reds never bothered to attack them outside of their allotted schedule during the week. It was a waste of time.

Sarge tried to be sneaky, but Simmons and Grif seemed to try to hold him back from breaking their Weekend Peace rule out of an unspoken friendship they had with the Blues. Either that, or Grif was just too lazy to fight and Simmons just went along with it. Wash could accept either theory.

Sighing, Wash looked out across the valley. It was almost four, only a few hours from sundown. It was an odd feeling, being there, even months after taking shelter in Valhalla. There was no real fighting. No deaths. No injuries. Just annoying teammates, hapless enemies, and a flawless landscape to gaze at every waking moment.

It…could have been worse. Wash smiled, against his better judgment. Yeah, it could have been a lot worse.

That night, he was going to forget about yelling at Tucker for skipping his duties. He would endure Caboose's inane conversations about kittens. There wasn't much to do in downtime in Valhalla, but if there was anything the Outpost 17 soldiers were good at…it was doing nothing. Wash sort of liked that. More than sort of.

Wash took two steps back into the base, when he stopped dead in his tracks.

Something was… off. He turned around, expecting to see one of the Blues or Reds coming up the path to the base, but no one was there. Doc wasn't back either. All he saw was the landscape, the wind blowing the distance trees like flags beyond the boulders.

Someone was there.

Wash reached for his pistol, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin under his armor. He couldn't see any shimmering of an invisible agent. He couldn't see a translucent body of a ghos—an  _AI_ , he reprimanded himself. None of the Blues or Reds were stealthy enough to sneak up on him, of all people. The wildlife has been essentially eradicated from the area when the bases were put up. They were alone in the basin.

Slowly, Washington moved toward the entrance. No one was hiding on either side of the ramp. There wasn't a sound.

"What the hell…" he muttered, lowering his weapon. He felt ridiculous, but the feeling wouldn't leave him. There was someone there, he just knew it.

He didn't even think about the other possibility until he heard something. A faint, untraceable sound that sounded far, far too close to have originated anywhere but right next to his ear.

A chill—an unearthly, unnatural chill—went up his back. Washington froze. It was not a someone-is-standing-behind-me feeling. It went deeper than that. His blood literally rippled, his brain went cold, his neck tensed up like a coil—

He knew this feeling. He was alone outside the base—

But not his mind.

Washington's eyes widened and he tried to think.

The radio—

"Oh,  _fuck_ ," he managed to say, sensation leaving.

He hadn't—turned—off—the—Goddamn—radio—

Claws ghosted over his mind, cruel whispers replacing thought.

_Hello, Agent Washington._

He screamed.

**0000**

The glossy green plateau was dotted with infrequent shrubs, rocks, and occasional dips and inclines. It wasn't difficult to walk across it, even when it felt like they were heading directly off into oblivion. The end of the plateau seemed nonexistent, even as the two humans ran at a breakneck speed across it, as if the Convent armada were right at their heels.

Running as fast as she could with the AI containment unit plastered to her chest, Ada did her best not to panic. It wasn't working.

"I can't believe he got out!" she exclaimed, panting. "I can't believe this!"

Iowa made a frustrated sound, easily outpacing her speed. "I asked you if it was dangerous!" he shouted.

"I didn't realize unlocking one of the partitions would unlock all of them!" Ada shouted back. "Ahh, this is all my fault!"

 _Dangerous_  was an understatement. This wasn't Delta or Church getting loose. This was  _Omega_ —the very AI all of the locks and security had been put in place to contain.

"Where could he  _go_? This place is empty! No radios, no civilization—!"

Ada shook her head, jumping over a rock, ignoring the pain in her leg. "The Blood Gulch men are here, aren't they? The simulation troopers!" she cried. "They don't know! We have to warn them!"

"If I may interject," Delta interrupted calmly, his voice unaffected by the running, unlike the humans, "Omega has more knowledge of the Blood Gulch simulation troops than myself or either of you do. He will know which ones he can easily target."

"Oh, just great!" Iowa spat.

Ada fought a wave of fear. She knew O'Malley was in a desperate state mind now. He would be a danger to everyone present. "At least they're not Freelancers, right?" she tried to say, as something positive. "Alpha said they were horrible soldiers!"

"That doesn't mean shit! Omega is a killing machine! A sociopath!" Iowa shouted, his frustration making Ada wince. "He crashed the goddamn Freelancer command ship in under two hours; he could wipe this whole place out in less time!"

"You are not inspiring confidence, Jason!" Ada stammered, mind already alight with new concerns. Oh, dear, oh, dear, this was bad—

"Not my job!" Iowa replied harshly. He slowed to her speed as they started up another incline, ascending up into the blue sky, and held out his hands expectantly. "Let me take the AIs!"

Ada sputtered indignantly, almost stopping. "They're my responsibility!"

"Ada, I swear to God, just do it!"

"Or what? You'll arrest me?"

Iowa was practically running backwards with his hands out now. "You are worse than a child!" he said, finally wrenching the containment unit from her hands. She only barely let him do it, knowing he was right.

"Excuse me? You're the one— _oh_!" She stumbled when she saw Iowa fall backwards, his legs disappearing out of sight—and then he and the AIs vanished into the air. "IOWA!"

Ada almost tripped as she tried to reach out to him in vain, but before she could think of increasing her speed—she found herself facing a cliffside that dangled out into the air, hundreds of feet high.

Gasp strangling in her throat, Ada skidded to a stop, her boots tearing into the dirt, which quickly became rocks. The boots snagged on the rocks and almost propelled her forward. Without thinking, Ada threw herself backwards and grabbed anything she could—rocks, the dirt—and slid up to the edge of the canyon, her feet stopped beyond the limits into empty space.

Chest heaving, Ada sat there for a long second in speechless silence, her mind reeling. The image of the canyon before her didn't change. The adrenaline rush from the sudden stop did not shield her mind from a horrible realization.

How the hell had they missed the fact they were running directly toward a canyon cliffside? !

Ada scrambled to her knees, heart pounding. Iowa had fallen right over—!

"JASON!" she screamed, voice barely echoing in the air because of her helmet. She nearly fell over the edge and had to grapple the grassy gaps between rocks to keep her balance. She couldn't see anything, except the valley below. There was no silver armor anywhere in sight. "Delta, where is he? !"

"Judging by his trajectory, Agent Iowa has most likely landed in the river," the AI told her, hovering patiently by her head as she looked down over the valley. There was a waterfall, yes, but there was nothing else visible. "It is highly probable that he will survive, Ada, don't worry."

"He had the AIs!"

Delta didn't seem overly concerned. "The memory unit will protect them adequately."

An overwhelming sense of frustration over their situation and the absurdity of their problems hit her all at once. "SHIT!" she exclaimed, the swearing feeling a hundred percent justified. She stared out at the valley helplessly. "What do we do  _now_?"

"Get off the cliff." Delta disappeared and then reappeared in front of her. He gestured toward their left, completely at ease. "There is a steep path going down to our left, about three hundred yards away. That will take you down to the lower plateau."

His calmness was helpful. Ada took a deep breath and tried to focus. Iowa could have been hurt, as could the AIs, but sitting there like an idiot wasn't help them.

"R-right," she said, standing on wobbly legs. She froze when something gray rose up with her vision. "Wait. Look!"

She tried to avoid falling down the path, but she couldn't help crane her neck out to look down at a portion of the valley she had missed seeing before. It was a building—a round, metallic fort from the looks of it. It had to have been a moderately large building, but from her position, it didn't look like much.

"Is that the simulation base?" she asked, surprised. It was…too simple, finding it that fast.

Delta had noticed the base as well. "One of them. There are two, typically placed at exact opposites of the box-canyon designed arena to give optimal, if not predictable, competitive scenarios," he replied. "I can't say with utter certainty which is which, but judging by the blue colored flag over the closest structure, I believe that is the Blue team's base of operations."

Ada nodded. "…Where Church was stationed."

"Correct."

"…It's as good a place as any to go," she said at length. She wasn't sure if she should have been more afraid of going down there or not. "After we get Iowa."

"Your plan has logical merit," Delta said. "Now, I will help direct you down the path, if you would allow it."

Ada didn't like the look of that path, but she withheld her doubts. "I'll take any help I can get, Delta," she said, grimacing.

Slowly, carefully, she edged her way toward the outcropping, praying that she'd have a better descent than Iowa had.

**0000**

_Red Base_

When the boss was away, Simmons got a lot of thinking done.

Humming, he walked at a leisurely pace down into the lower levels of Red base. It had been a great day for his work, catching up on official paperwork that Sarge had entrusted him with, plus planning out details for what he thought was the next best idea his team would enact at their next staff meeting.

After witnessing Wash's dominance on the field, Simmons understood that the Reds needed to meet their new adversary on an equal playing field. Considering that they had better access to food now, Simmons considered a new diet was the best place to start. That, and routine exercise. They'd be ready for combat by next week, if Sarge accepted his plan, which Simmons knew he would. The Sargent was currently scouting the basin in the Puma, so Simmons hadn't had the time to approach him about his idea.

He didn't want to approach his commander or his other teammates without consulting the only medical source they had in the basin, of course. Doc was a far cry from a real nutritionist, but his new age habits and interests had to count for something. Simmons hoped the medic would be able to get them started on a true dietary regime that would get them back on track for beating the Blues.

It was a Saturday, which meant Doc would be showing up for their weekly switch up with the Blues. Sharing a medic seemed odd, but Simmons had grown to accept it as something that worked. It wasn't like Doc was a good medic. It was just the principle of the thing, to make sure that the Reds had equal access to him.

It was good timing that this was the Red's week to deal with him. "Deal with" was rather harsh, but Simmons knew he wasn't the only one to think that way. Doc wasn't the worst person to have around (unlike Grif, whom Simmons knew he couldn't trade,) despite his idiosyncrasies, but part of Simmons was glad it was every other week they had to deal with him.

After waiting up on the roof for a few minutes around four-thirty, he had gotten impatient with waiting for Doc to show up. Simmons went to find Grif, and after turning a corner, he thought he had seen a flash of orange.

"Hey, did Doc show up yet?" he asked, as he turned to find his friend. He froze when he realized Grif was on his back, flat on the ground, up against the corridor wall.

For a moment, Simmons was worried. A prone teammate was a potentially injured (or dead) teammate. He stared at the orange body until his rational side caught up and made him focus.

"…Grif?" Simmons waited. He saw the chest plates move. Eyes narrowing, Simmons kicked the orange suited man in the side. "GRIF!"

Grif, dead asleep, jerked awake. "What?!  _What_?!" He looked around wildly. "I'm a civilian!"

Simmons  _stared_  at him. Had he really been down here, sleeping this whole time? Simmons hadn't seen him in hours!

"…Grif, Jesus Christ," Simmons muttered, hand on his face (well, on the outside of his helmet). What was  _wrong_  with this army?

"Wha…oh." Grif stopped panicking when he finally looked up. His shoulders drooped. "God, Simmons, why did you  _do_  that?"

The accusatory sound in his voice made Simmons scowl. "What did  _I_  do? I asked you a question!" he snapped.

"You interrupted my therapy!" Grif shot back. He crossed his arms, looking pathetic as he sat there on the floor. "Now I have to start all over."

Simmons sputtered. "Therapy?  _What_  therapy?"

"For my shrapnel wounds!" Grif replied, insistent. "Doc said I should take three hour long siestas every day to help keep the metal from going into my heart."

The first instinct he had was to hurt Grif. But he resisted. Simmons had mastered the art of resisting hurting Grif. That was Sarge's job, anyway.

"First off, no, he didn't. Second, naps don't stop shrapnel from moving around. Third, you were hit in the leg, not your chest!" Simmons said, irritated. A briefly glance at his HUD screen made him even angrier. "And you've been napping for  _six hours!_ "

"So sue me for trying to catch up on my rest because  _some_  people keep interrupting my recovery," Grif said, sniffing indignantly.

At least this explained why he was sleeping on the floor. He had been hiding from the rest of them. Simmons made an exasperated sound. "Oh, for the love of— _where_  is Doc?" he demanded.

Grif snorted and shuffled back against the wall. His only skill in life was that he could fall asleep  _anywhere_. "I don't know. He's at the Blues."

"It's Saturday, you idiot. He should be on his way over here."

"I don't know. I was doing  _therapy_."

Simmons almost went for his gun. Almost. " _You weren't_ —never mind," he said through gritted teeth. If Grif was this useless, maybe his other teammates wouldn't be. "Where's Donut?"

Grif turned his head and sent Simmons a pointed stare. "What part of  _mandatory medical siesta_  do you not understand?" he asked condescendingly.

His hand touched the top of the gun.

_So. Close._

"I hate you," Simmons said with a snarl, turning around with hunched shoulders. He was surrounded by total, absolute idiots.

He stomped his way back across the base and contemplated his situation. He was used to it, perhaps, but wasn't that worse that this was  _normal_? He was subjected to Grif every day, for the last six years, so naturally it had become  _normal_. Simmons could provide remedial support for Sarge in the areas their leader often made unintentional errors in, but Grif just made things worse when it came to having their team running smoothly. Donut wasn't much better, but at least the upbeat soldier didn't try to treat Simmons like an idiot.

He was going to enjoy the new diet Doc helped Simmons come up with. He was going to enjoy Grif's suffering. (In a completely non-sociopathic way, of course. It was completely for the sake of the team.)

Simmons tried to think where Donut would have been—perhaps in the dormitory—but stopped dead in the center of the base when the usual silence that hung overhead during off-hours was abruptly shattered.

" _AHHHH_!"

Simmons froze under the florescent lights. The sudden scream was cut off, but it had been long and loud enough.

That wasn't Grif and it wasn't Sarge. It  _definitely_  wasn't Donut.

That only left one other person that would be inside Red base at that moment in time.

"Doc!" Simmons shouted, rushing down the hallway that led to the washracks.

_What the hell was that?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****
> 
> End _Chapter 3_.
> 
> Next, the neighborhood sort of goes to Hell rather fast. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doc has some problems and then the neighborhood sort of goes to hell pretty quickly. Thank you for the kudos, guys! :)
> 
> **Warnings** : implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

_Red Base_

"Man, this place is dirty!"

Doc grimaced as he inched across the Red washrack floor. Despite Donut being keen on cleaning the base thoroughly, having Grif on the team almost negated his efforts entirely. Doc tried to help clean both bases when he could, because honestly, the mildew wasn't just unhygienic, it was also really gross.

_Okay, that was mean_ , he reprimanded himself. Red team (specifically Grif) just had…alternative hygienic habits. He couldn't judge them.

He would have normally tried to use the Blue showers before coming over, but he had been running late. He even had to borrow Donut's shampoo. Doc decided the inconveniences were just additional consequences of a wartime environment.

With that in mind, Doc cheered up a bit. He didn't have much to complain about, and if a dirty shower ( _oh, dear, that shower curtain was green on the bottom_ ) was the worst he had to endure, he was lucky.

Sure, his companions were still fighting each other, though Doc was glad it was more a friendly fighting...if that was possible. It did sound like an oxymoron, "friendly fighting." But if the Reds and Blues had proved anything to the medic over the last few years, it was that they could do the impossible and make sense out of it. Sort of.

Humming, Doc turned the hot water on. Their bases were always cold, but it was bearable enough that Doc disassembled his suit, placed it next to his bathrobe, and waited patiently with his towel for the water to reach some decent temperature.

He _was_ lucky, he thought. His deployment wasn't up for another two years. After everything that had happened to them, they were all lucky to have made it that far at all.

Doc hesitated as he put his glasses aside. Some weren't as lucky. Church was gone. While he wasn't a big fan of the medic, Church had still been there since, well, the beginning of their troubles. It did feel like the teams were unbalanced without him.

Wash was a good replacement, but his issues ran deeper than just trying to fit in. Doc knew that well enough, just by watching the ex-Freelancer adjusting. He _was_ adjusting, which was a good sign from what Doc had learned from his certificate program, but…some things weren't going to go away easily. Wash's psychological problems were upsetting. Doc knew what it was like to have to face a scary AI inside his own head. In some way, he wanted to reach out to Wash and talk about what he had experienced. Surely he needed to talk about it, with someone.

But Wash wasn't very social. Doc had to respect that. He was trying. Sitting there in that wide, empty room made Doc feel the pressure to succeed in cracking that cold shell of a soldier. His concern might have been misplaced, but…he still felt like he should have tried to be a source of counseling if Wash needed it.

It wasn't going to change tomorrow or the next day. Doc was still confident. Wash was a strong guy. All of them were, he thought positively. He was very proud of all of his friends and how far they had all come.

Doc started to hum again and waved his hand through the water. Just above lukewarm. It would have to do. He went to reach for the curtains when he noticed a shadow looming on the white plastic that didn't look like his own.

Doc turned and dropped the bottle of shampoo in his grasp when he saw a wall of blue armor standing right behind him.

"Wash—?" Doc began, startled.

His question turned into a surprised scream when Wash grabbed him by the back of the neck and threw him into the shower curtains. Doc slipped on the tiles and brought the curtain down with him, hitting the floor gracelessly. His chin had narrowly avoided a direct impact with the cement, but the jarring sensation of hitting the ground lost him any real reaction time.

Doc yelped again when Wash slammed his head back down into the floor, his knee pressing heavily against Doc's back, pinning him. Doc froze, stunned. The armored body was shockingly cold as the water continued to run, misting over them.

"Why, _hello_ , Doc," Wash said, voice rougher than it normally was. The hands pressing against Doc's shoulder blade shoved him further into the tiles. "It's such a _pleasure_ to see you again."

"Wash? !" Doc sputtered, more shocked than hurt. He tried to pull himself out from under the heavy armored man, but it was like being pinned by a boulder. "What—what are you doing? !"

"You should really wear your armor more often," Wash drawled, sounding way, way too gleeful than Doc knew him to be. It was eerily…familiar. "I was looking for you. Had to settle with _this_ instead. I must admit, this mind is far more _interesting_ than yours ever was, but like anything else that's not my favorite, it's a downgrade." Doc froze when the helmeted face leaned down closer over his shoulder, grin in his voice. "I don't like downgrades, Doc."

In that moment, he realized why it was so familiar, that whispered, frightening voice. Doc stared at the cement tiles, his mind numb.

"…No…" Doc tried to say it, but to admit it was almost impossible. It was _impossible_. "You're…"

"I'm what?" Wash— _not-Wash_ —asked, chuckling. A rough hand grabbed hold the back of Doc's head, forcing him to focus. The fake-sweet voice didn't fit Wash. At all. "Share with the class, DuFrense."

"…O'Malley?" Doc said, breathless.

The immediate cackle overhead was like the crack of a whip. Doc winced as the heavy body leaned in more.

"Oooh, you're sharp. Sharper than before, at least," O'Malley said, laughter breaking into his words. He had never heard Wash laugh loudly, not like that. Doc was immobilized by shock. "So what is this? The Fools of the World annual camping trip? You're all _assembled_ again. How cute." O'Malley's voice suddenly dipped down colder. "Just like old times."

This couldn't have been happening. It was impossible. O'Malley was dead. Tucker and Wash had both told him that the AI was gone forever.

Doc felt fear trickle into his chest when he realized that it wasn't true. O'Malley hadn't died. He was _there_.

"Wh-what… I thought you…" Doc tried to say, shivering from more than just the cold air. "I thought you were…"

"Dead? Gone?" O'Malley asked. The fact that he was speaking with Wash's voice made it a million times worse. Doc didn't even want to imagine the contorted grin on Wash's face. "Nobody can't get rid of me. Especially _you_."

A whimper choked in his throat when Doc was suddenly thrown onto his back and was face to face with the expressionless gold visor that belonged to Wash, but it wasn't Wash who slammed him back with painful hands that latched around his throat.

"You will never be rid of me, DuFresne," O'Malley snarled, gripped his throat tight enough to constrict air. " _Mine_."

Beyond that visor, Doc imagined Wash's gray eyes. He realized then that somewhere behind them was _Wash_.

Oh, no. Doc opened his mouth to speak—a plea, a request—that O'Malley find someone else. Doc would put on his suit. He'd take Wash's place. Of all the people, of all the survivors of Freelancer left among them, why did O'Malley have to pick _Wash—_?

"Hey, Doc, are you—HOLY CRAP!" The sudden shout echoed across the washracks. Doc belatedly realized a Red was standing just a few yards away. "WHAT ARE YOU TWO _DOING_? ! THAT IS—OH, GOD, I NEED TO BLEACH MY EYES!"

Whatever was going on inside that washroom was shattered by the intrusion, and it was not a peaceful conclusion to the tension. Doc opened his mouth to say something, a warning, but it was too late. The choking hands left, but Doc felt an immediate harsh pain in his gut, and the next thing he knew, he was staring up at the ceiling as the shower mist sprinkled over the air. Someone was shouting, but he was more intent on getting his lungs to work.

"—holy fuck, holy fuck—," someone kept yammering. There was more noise in the background. Doc forced himself upright, coughing violently as he tried to get his wind back.

"What's going on? !" he heard someone ask loudly—Donut.

The first person continued to shout. "Wash was like, raping Doc, and then he punched him, and then he went apeshit on Simmons!" the soldier exclaimed. Ah, that was Grif. "And—oh, fuck, Doc's up."

"Up" was an overstatement, since Doc had only managed to slide back to his chest in order to slowly haul himself up. His stomach hurt and he couldn't stop coughing once he was able to breathe properly again.

Donut didn't sound pleased as Doc hastily grabbed his bathrobe. "What the hell happened? !" the pink soldier demanded.

"Wash… he…" Doc cleared his throat to try again. The gravity of the situation hit him hard. "O'Malley's here. O'Malley was possessing Wash!"

He could see the others clearly now. Simmons was curled up on the floor by Grif's feet, but the mere fact that they weren't asking for Doc's help meant he was probably just unconscious. Grif had his hands on his helmet, but stopped his panicking when Doc spoke. Donut also seemed surprised.

"O'Malley… are… are you trying to be funny?" Grif managed to say. He slowly lowered his hands. "O'Malley's gone, Doc. He's _been_ gone. He was with the Meta, remember? That EMP thing got him."

Doc was shaking badly as he tied his robe tighter than necessary. "It was him! It was!" he said. He walked across the room on wobbly knees. "Oh, no, where's Wash now?!"

Grif threw his hands up. "I have no fucking clue. He punch Simmons out and then took off when he saw me coming up."

"This is horrible! I thought you guys said he was gone!" Donut said, now also panicking. "Are you sure it was him?"

Doc shuddered. "Yes." He wouldn't mistake just anyone for O'Malley.

Grif suddenly froze. "…Wait." The orange soldier pointed out at the door. "Wait, back up. _O'Malley_ is possessing _Washington_ … AKA the single most lethal guy in the basin?"

There was a short pause.

"…Oh, dear," Doc offered, eyes wide.

For more than one reason, having Wash being O'Malley puppet was a definite worst-case scenario.

"Owww, my head," Simmons moaned from the floor, effectively forgotten by the others.

"This could not possibly get any fucking worse," Grif announced. He gripped the side of his helmet again. "We're are _so_ dead."

"Call Tucker," Donut said, wringing his hands. "We gotta get some back-up here! We should warn them!"

" _Call_?" Grif repeated incredulous.

Again, they all paused when they realized that using their radios was out of the question now. Simmons, who stared up at them all in confusion, didn't say anything either as he tried to catch up. Doc forced himself to focus when he realized they were already running out of time as night approached.

Doc could _fix_ this. He… he could. He had to.

"Let's move," he said, grabbing his armor pads. "Quick!"

**0000**

_Across the Valley_

It had taken her nearly an hour to get down off the cliff face. Ada had never been afraid of heights before, but that was irrelevant when one was climbing in nothing but an expensive suit of armor down a five hundred meter tall cliff. Delta had been incredibly patient and having that reassuring voice in her head was surprisingly, well, reassuring. She knew she made a poor example of a soldier, but that wasn't her job.

Without a map, they were left to carefully move from cover to cover back toward the waterfall. Livingston was taken back by how pretty the landscape was. It certainly didn't look like a warzone. It was also very quiet. She was grateful they hadn't landed there during a firefight, but she was nervous about how quiet it was. Where was everyone?

Livingston crept past a series of boulders and was relieved to see the creek bed. It went through the valley, she could only imagine. They were pretty far from the waterfall now, but she could see straight down the creek. It wasn't that deep, but she had hoped the fall would still be lessened.

Her heart fell when she saw nothing standing out in the water, up- or downstream. No AI case, no Iowa—just the creek.

"Where did he go?" Livingston asked. "Even if he hadn't landed in the water, he couldn't have landed further than here!"

"I don't know, Ada. We'll find him. Knowing Agent Iowa's training, he knew to find cover, or find a way to get back to you," Delta told her. His hologram moved closer. "You're panicking."

"Only a bit!" Ada replied, backing up against a rock. How did they mess up so badly, so quickly?

Delta hovered like a protective beacon. "Try to relax. Panicking will do very little to help us."

Livingston sighed. "I know. I know that, I'm just…"

Her voice trailed off when she heard voices. She instinctively sank down low, her heart racing, and she strained her ears. Delta shrank down further with her and seemed to be on alert as well.

The voices were indistinct, but they were definitely people, more than one. There wasn't shouting, so she prayed it wasn't an indicator of a firefight starting. She didn't even have a gun.

She let herself stay still for a minute longer. The voices petered off, but once she found the strength, she moved along the rock to look beyond, at the Blue Base.

Two people were on the roof, talking with each other apparently. One had a bucket, but he soon dumped what looked like water right off the side. The front of the base was bare. It seemed unlikely that the base would only have two soldiers.

Delta remained quiet, so Ada followed his example. They waited, watching the scene unfold. One of the soldiers, with teal colored armor, started to point in the distance. At least they hadn't noticed her.

"Should I just go over there?" Livingston asked in a whisper. She sincerely doubted they'd have a doorbell.

"Negative. I would not recommend charging in there," Delta replied quietly. He flickered noticeably. "Be on alert. There are more soldiers approaching from the west."

Livingston froze as she heard the sound of more people approaching. She was relieved when no one came up along her side of the rocks, but she was feeling the pressure of being outnumbered poignantly now.

Conversation started once again, louder than before. It still didn't sound violent. Livingston fought a chill in her gut. None of them sounded familiar.

"Do you think… Iowa went to speak with them?" Livingston asked, unsure. She didn't see Iowa anywhere. She was too afraid to move closer around the rock to see the whole field.

"Perhaps." Delta regarded the group pointedly. "He isn't present."

She couldn't see how many from her angle, but there were a decent amount of people judging by the loud conversations. These were the men they had been looking for.

"…Should we trust them?" she asked, peering up at her guide. She didn't know any of those men, or how they would react to her story.

"We have no choice," Delta said. His hologram flickered, showing his emotions better than his voice did. "Approach carefully, Ada. While they are less organized than a Freelancer unit, they are, in the end, capable of great harm."

"You're not very reassuring, Delta, no offense," she said, her heart racing.

"York often said something similar," Delta replied. Again, there was a faint ring of humor there. Livingston smiled in suit, glad that at least there were still small moments of levity in their situation—

The shouting abruptly increased. Livingston dared to peer around closer. What she saw made her stop. She tried to make sense of the scene in front of her, but none of the previous information she had had on the situation made any sense now.

"…Why are the Reds with them?"

**0000**

_Blue Base_

Tucker had been planning on going to patrol duty. Really, he had. It wasn't like they had any thing to patrol around for—like real enemies, not just the frienemies the Reds were spectacularly bad at being. Not that Tucker was complaining. He enjoyed the lack of threats. It made the days a bit more bearable.

Wash was a lot more easy-going than he had been months ago. After getting to know the ex-Freelancer, Tucker was glad for that fact, since Wash was still a neurotic stickler for rules and regulation, even when it was abundantly clear the Reds and Blues were anything but _regular_. Church had been an asshole too, sure, but never this anal.

It was a blessing and a curse to have someone like Wash. It was a curse because Wash made it harder to goof off or ignore protocols. It was a blessing since Tucker finally had someone to annoy the heck out of during downtime. Pulling pranks on Caboose was only fun until the big idiot started crying, which was often. Tucker wasn't a saint, but even he knew when to back off. (Besides, having someone from the enemy team come over to lecture him about bullying was rather degrading.)

He still had a victim, though. Wash was a grumpy guy, but Tucker had seen cracks in his irritable visage. The more Tucker did stupid things—like switching the salt and sugar, or short-sheeting Wash's bunk—the more Wash seemed to relax in off time. It was the same when Caboose asked Wash to do stupid games with him. Tucker knew that Wash had lost his previous team in horrible ways. Treating him like one of the guys was the way to get the cold soldier to feel more comfortable.

And nothing said _Part of the Team_ like dumping water on top of them from the roof. Tucker saw it as a foolproof plan.

Tucker was sorely disappointed, then, when he found himself standing over the edge of Blue base's roof, staring down at an empty yard with a full pail of water in his arms.

"Where's Wash?" he asked, frustrated. He had had to carry that giant bucket all the way up from the creek!

Caboose had followed him up there and peered over the edge. "Ummm, not here?"

Of all the times for the ex-Freelancer to follow Tucker's well-lived motto of 'Screw the rules!' Tucker sighed and emptied the water bucket over the edge, scowling. _Next time._

He froze when he saw something move in the distance. Tossing the bucket aside, Tucker stood up to peer over the boulders. Three figures were rushing toward Blue base, appearing over a hill. At first he thought it might be Wash, but he didn't know who the others were.

"Hey… are those the Reds?" Tucker asked, surprised. It definitely looked like a herd of people, and since the only people within a hundred klicks were one team or the other…

"Yes?" Caboose offered, peering around without actually seeing anyone yet.

"What the hell are they doing coming back over here at this hour?" Tucker asked, confused. He peered closer, using his hand to block of the fading sun's rays. "Sarge isn't with them, so I guess it's not an attack. Worst sneak attack yet if it is."

"Look! The bad doctor is with them!" Caboose said, pointing.

He was right; Doc was running only a few feet behind Simmons. Although he wasn't a stickler for remembering the date, Tucker knew that it was a Saturday, and Doc wasn't supposed to be headed back their way.

"…Great." Tucker scowled and then raised his voice, "No trade backs, idiots!"

"— _SHUT UP AND GET DOWN HERE!_ " Simmons screamed, not stopping as he led the charge directly for Blue base.

Doc was keeping pace, but further behind, an orange armored man was struggling to keep up. Grif was practically collapsing from the running, but if he had made the effort at all, clearly it wasn't because he was in on some joke. It was serious-running then. That never boded well.

"Whoa." Tucker frowned when he realized that maybe, they did have a reason for charging up to Blue base that didn't involve their fake-war. He turned to Caboose. "They sound freaked. Did Wash finally go full commando and invade their base?"

Caboose was too busy waving at their approaching associates, so Tucker sighed and headed for the ramp down.

"Where's Wash?" he asked as they jogged back to the front of the base. With an approaching breech of their perimeter, he would have thought Wash would have been on top of this already. "I thought he was on guard duty until dinner?"

"Maybe he went to take a bath," Caboose said cheerfully. "I offered him my rubber ducky last time, but he told me no thanks. He was already taking a bath so I guess he didn't need it at that point."

Tucker snorted. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure it was just a 'No, thank you.' How many fingers did you lose?"

"None?" Caboose offered, as if knowing somewhere in that dimly lit brain of his that that wasn't the correct answer.

"He does think you're Special-Ed, so yeah, you're lucky with that, dude," Tucker muttered. He waved at the mass of people who came to a stop a few yards from the entrance to the base. "Yo, you do realize I'm supposed to like, defend the base against full out assaults, right?"

Holding his head as if pained while Grif literally fell over from over-exertion behind Doc, Simmons didn't spare him any time to make a joke out of their hurried state.

"Tucker," Simmons began wheezily, "we have a _major_ problem."

And that's when Tucker realized that this was serious. _Aw, shit._

**0000**

Against all logic, both teams were in front of Blue base. Maybe some of their numbers were missing, since she didn't know the exact number of soldiers they had, but Livingston was more concerned about the fact the supposedly fighting teams were holding what seemed like a debriefing.

"…they're all there," she said, stunned. She turned her head toward Delta who still hovered in the air above her. "Hide your hologram."

Delta shrank downwards next to her shoulder, but was perplexed. "Why?"

Livingston pressed against the boulder and tried to keep calm, at least outwardly, for his sake. "We don't know if they're safe yet," she replied. "I don't want you out there before I know for sure we can trust them."

The AI's hologram flickered. "While I doubt they are malicious, I suppose you are correct," he said, vaguely amused. "Be careful, Ada. I will be monitoring the situation, so if you need assistance, I will be immediately available."

"Thank you, Delta." Livingston smiled, knowing he could see it. "Watch my back?"

"Of course," he said, fondness tinting his voice as his hologram disappeared from sight.

"—and if he gets ahold of the Warthog, we're totally screwed! Man, how did this even happen?"

The angry shout drew her in closer to the edge of the rock, though it made more sense if she ran the other way. She knew entering the fray at this point was dangerous, even if they didn't seem to be fighting each other. She inched as close as she dared, peering around.

"Are you sure this isn't just Wash going insane, or something?" the maroon soldier asked. Next to him, the teal solider was angrily pacing. "We had to watch that video before on posttraumatic stress, or whatever. Maybe that's what it was."

"It was him, I know it was," the purple soldier across from him said, pleading. "It sounded just like him."

"Why aren't they attacking each other?" Ada asked quietly. Weren't these soldiers supposed to be fighting each other as part of the testing?

" _They were never the most…logical soldiers_ ," Delta replied, at the same volume level, right next to her ear. " _From their general behavior, I surmise they have continued their truce from the last time I was with them_."

They didn't have any weapons drawn. Their conversation was heated, but it wasn't directed at each other from what Livingston could tell. They were discussing what seemed like a mutual problem they had to handle together. It didn't sound good.

"Well, maybe we should go get Sarge and Donut," the purple soldier said. He was wringing his hands nervously. "We shouldn't take our chances. We should stick together."

"Yeah, right," the orange soldier snapped. "But how are we gonna let him know what's going on without calling over the radio?"

"I don't know. His patrol should be done soon," the maroon solider said. "Donut agreed to stay behind to wait for Sarge to come back, but maybe we shouldn't have left him alone."

The teal one nodded. "Right, well, we should double back to Red base then, just in case."

They kept talking, discussing some kind of plan. Livingston had no idea what they were talking about, or why they were all together discussing anything since they were supposed to be _enemies_ , but she understood that these were the simulation soldiers she had gone all this way to find. She had to make contact eventually.

Without Iowa, it was more dangerous. But at that point, there were too many other dangers to ignore. She braced herself—and then took a step out from the rock.

"Excuse me?" she called out. She held her hands up in a peacekeeping gesture and prayed that the gesture would be noticed first. "Excuse me, is this Outpost-17—?"

At her sudden inquiry, all the soldiers flinched. The orange one turned first.

"Who the heck is—WHOA!" he yelled. He leaped straight back into the teal soldier. "FREELANCER!"

Livingston balked— " _What_? !"

And then came face to face with three gun barrels pointed directly at her head.

**0000**

"Alright, let's go back. We're going to need to do a sweep of the valley," Simmons said, looking around at the Reds and Blues expectantly. Everyone was attentive, even Caboose. "Even if it is O'Malley, we can't just let him run around without making some counter—"

"Excuse me, is this Outpost-17—?"

Simmons almost screamed; _almost_. He didn't and that was what was most important. The rest of his friends, however, all panicked at the same time he did when he realized they had an unfamiliar guest a few meters away. An armored, helmeted guest.

"Who the heck is—WHOA!" Grif screamed. He flew back into Tucker. " _Freelancer_!"

The only ones who didn't raise their weapons were Doc and Caboose, for obvious reasons. Grif was naturally slow, but Simmons would later be amazed at how quickly they reacted in that moment. He had his gun out immediately, as did Tucker and Grif. His head hurt and one of his ribs might have been broken from O'Malley's attack, but adrenaline did wonders with military training.

"WAIT!" the Freelancer yelped, cowering back at the sight of the guns. They had their hands up in surrender. Simmons still looked for a gun, but couldn't find any. "Wait, please, don't shoot!"

"Why shouldn't I? !" Simmons demanded, now on a verge a total panic attack. First O'Malley, now Freelancer—it was a blast from the past and not in a pleasant way.

Grif flinched. "Wait… whoa, hold up there, Simmons," he said slowly, though he kept his gun raised.

"Why? !" Simmons asked shrilly. He spared a quick glance at his teammate, incredulous. "It's a Freelancer! I thought we didn't like those guys!"

"That's not a Freelancer!" Caboose exclaimed behind him, sounding astonished. "That's a lady!"

It took Simmons a moment to realize what he meant. He stared at the Freelancer in front of them and slowly backtracked.

_Oh_ , he thought, surprised. Now that he thought about it, it did sound like a woman. Another female Freelancer…?

"Have you forgotten that Tex existed?" Tucker shot back, furious. He didn't lower his gun an inch. "Like, the _first_ Freelancer we ever met? She was a chick too, and in case you forgot, she was deadlier than all of us combined, you moron!"

The beige armored woman held up her hands. She didn't appear to have any weapons, sheathed or in her hands. "Please… I-I'm not a Freelancer," she said, voice stammering through the helmet. She was definitely British.

Grif tilted his head. "You look like one," he pointed out obviously.

"It's just the suit. I didn't have a choice," the woman-Freelancer told them; with every passing second she looked like she was shrinking down into herself more. "M-my name is Dr. Ada Livingston. I'm a psychologist from the _UNSC Falcon_."

"Oh, boy, another doctor!" Doc said, cheerful.

"A real one, you mean?" Tucker countered dryly.

Doc's shoulders drooped as he sent the soldier a look. "Hey…"

"What are you doing down here?" Simmons demanded, refusing to let his idiot companions distract him from the fact they had an intruder in Freelancer armor directly in front of them.

"I…" The woman suddenly moved, this time to try to pry her helmet off. "Oh, God, I can't _breathe_ in this thing."

Simmons glanced at Grif before looking back at the struggling stranger. "The air's non-toxic, so you can take the helmet off," he said. It was a purer concentration of oxygen than they had in the bases, but it wouldn't affect a person unless they were outside for hours without helmet filtration. "In fact, go ahead and do that, so we can see your face."

The stranger furiously attacked her helmet after that order, clearly intent on getting out of the helmet even if it had been confirmed too dangerous. None of the Reds or Blues moved when she finally hit the right switch under the helmet (she was clearly not used to the armor) and manually tore the beige helmet off.

Simmons didn't say anything at first, since he wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Frazzled dark hair, dark skin and a slightly frantic breathing pattern as she stared back at them with hazel eyes—yup, it was a woman.

"Thank God, the voice wasn't just giving me hope," Tucker suddenly breathed.

"Tucker!" Simmons snapped, before turning back to the nervous woman. He did lower his gun, now significantly more convinced she wasn't a Freelancer. He didn't put the gun away because he wasn't convinced that she wasn't there to cause them problems anyway. "Alright, Dr. Livingston. What are you doing here?"

The psychologist hugged her helmet, still slightly out of breath. "I'm here on behalf of my patients. They asked to seek you out," she said. She looked around them, only a little desperate. "You are the training teams from the Blood Gulch Outpost, correct?"

Simmons felt uneasy; if she knew _that_ , then… how?

"Yeah…who're your patients?" Grif asked, frowning behind his helmet.

Livingston visibly faltered. "I…I don't know if I can trust you," she said. Before anyone could protest that it was her they couldn't trust, she abruptly turned around, exasperated. " _God_ , I don't know anything now. What am I _doing_ here?" She sat down on the grass and clutched her head.

The men standing in front of her _stared_.

For like, an entire minute.

"Man, I hate this," Grif suddenly announced.

Tucker looked at him. "What? Upset women?"

Grif looked dejected standing there. "Not that," he complained. "I'm pretty sure we're about to get wrapped up in yet _another_ crazy ass Freelancer mission gone-wrong."

Simmons sighed. "Probably." His head hurt a lot.

"We can't worry about this now, whatever it is!" Tucker exclaimed suddenly. He motioned out at the fields behind them. "O'Malley is still loose out there!"

On the ground, Livingston suddenly looked up, horror etched into her expression. "What? ! O'Malley? !" she demanded, standing upright in a second. "Oh, no, where is he? !"

Whatever Simmons had intended to say got jumbled when he realized what he just heard. Did she just say—?

"You know him?" Doc ventured, audibly wary. No one looked comfortable. How did a UNSC psychologist know a Freelancer AI?

Oblivious to their suspicious looks, Livingston nodded. "I—yes!" she said. "He's the Omega AI, isn't he?"

Doc continued to shift uneasily. "Yeah…"

"Please, do you know where he is?" Livingston asked, desperate again.

Simmons frowned. "Somewhere near base. He possessed one of our guys and ran off after attacking us." If she knew his name, she probably knew the risks he posed.

"You mean after almost raping Doc," Grif pointed out.

Doc immediately started to flail. "It wasn't like that!"

Livingston had frozen staring at Doc, though Simmons had a feeling it wasn't about his rather unfortunate encounter with O'Malley.

"D…Doc?" Livingston repeated, sounding awed. "You're…Doc?"

That implied a familiarity that Doc apparently didn't share with her. "Have we met?" he asked, confused as she continued to stare at him.

Livingston shook her head stiffly. "No," she admitted. "But O'Malley told me about you. You were also mentioned in his file—"

"Whoa, what? !" Tucker shouted, interrupting her. He ignored how she flinched when he stepped closer. " _How_ exactly do you know O'Malley, again?"

"He—he's one of my patients," Livingston explained, surprised.

_There was the other shoe_ , Simmons thought airily. Tucker gaped at the woman while Caboose was oblivious and Grif seemed too confused to understand either. Simmons wasn't sure he followed what she was saying either.

"Lady, he's a _computer program_ ," Simmons said, eyebrows up.

Livingston nodded. "Yes. I was part of an initiative to rehabilitate the AIs that had been misused by Project Freelancer, including the Omega AI," she said quickly. "Please, I need your help. We left the _Falcon_ because Freelancer betrayed our trust and ordered that the AIs be terminated."

Tucker almost jumped. "Wait, you wanted to keep O'Malley _alive_? ! He's a psychopath!" he exclaimed.

"Whatever he is, he is also my patient, and I will sooner keel over dead myself than let one of them die in front of me!" Livingston snapped, arms tightly wrapped around her helmet. She stood there, shaking. "I promised I would do everything I could to help them! Please…I need your _help_."

While her pleas were moving, and seemed legitimate, Simmons had no idea what to do. He distrusted O'Malley just as much as his teammates did. There was no way that AI could be allowed to just run around.

But there were too many unknowns. He had no idea what a psychologist had to do with anything, but for the moment, he realized that they could get some answers from a direct source, instead of running around without any help.

That was an upgrade since their _last_ adventure, he considered grimly.

"Who is _them_?" he asked, deciding to start with the questions already piling up.

"I'll tell you everything," Livingston replied, eyes bright. "But this won't be easy."

Simmons didn't doubt that for a minute as their lives became, once more, infinitely complex.

  
**End** _**Chapter 4** _ **.**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, all sorts of friendly faces come together.
> 
> **A/Ns** :  
> -O'Malley + Washington = Batman.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for the length of time it took me to write this, but officially I blame finals, an unexpected medical emergency, and of course, O'Malley being a little shit when it comes to writing the inside of his borrowed head.
> 
> While the groups attempt to make sense of the situation, some missing members decide to show up, finally. Also, have fun with the first section. Cheers.
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Mechanical processes are hindered by awareness. Automatic behaviors of an organic body become dependent on secondary thoughts instead of subconscious intervention of the body. Nature is a poor craftsman after all. Human organs are failure prone and the human mind is not large enough for everything it is meant to hold.

Nor what it is forced to hold.

Breathe. Breathe. _Breathe_.

Nerve impulses travel a pathetic two hundred and seventy kilometers. The tissue is forced to rely on the air sucked in through raspy lips and the mechanical reproduction of that subconscious effort once made aware of itself.

The brain cannot feel pain.

That, Washington surmised, was a lie.

_Everything is a lie._

He had felt his hands hitting flesh. He had heard screams.

So much screaming.

"—fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you—!"

The human voice is unique. Timbre interrupts pitch, all due in part of opposing folds of vibrating flesh, the individual parts of the total whole of lips, nose, and throat, creating the exclusive nature of one's voice.

Washington wasn't sure, regardless, if the screams in his throat and up against his ears belonged to him or another.

The sobs did belong to him.

He made it to the ground, but he only noticed when he saw flashes of green and brown. The visions were lost to gray when he slammed into rocky surfaces that turned the sky upside down. His body kept moving, like a bobbing vessel over rough seas.

His mind was the sea, but he—his essence, his _soul_ —was the boat. Waves crashed down and drowned him, but somehow, he broke the surface. It was always met by the same thing, when he came up for air.

Pain. Grief. Desperation.

_I need it, I need it, I need it, I need—_

He needed Allison—no, no, that wasn't right. Allison was gone. She was gone, forever and ever, and so was his purpose—

_No!_

He fell to his knees and the Other—the _Other_ —screamed in anger. The Other yanked the body back, but he kept afloat.

He didn't need anything. He wasn't—this wasn't his need, his pain, his grief. He didn't need it. He didn't…

Gasping, he wanted to take the helmet off. He couldn't find it with his hands. He needed—to breathe. He couldn't with the helmet on. He couldn't find his hands, though. They weren't his anymore.

None of it was. The pain was real, but it wasn't his, not all of it. Raw, vicious pain scratched like fingernails down his spine and cut into marrow. It was sharp and blinding, but at times, it all shone through. The truth.

Allison was gone. Epsilon was gone— _it's not him, it's not the same, they're not here, the memories aren't here_ —and so with them went freedom. They were doomed. They had nothing now.

_But not me. I have it. I need it. I will take it and keep it, because it's_ mine _. It's mine! My body, my freedom, my—!_

Stumbling past stone that reached high into the air, Washington stopped.

He remembered Doc.

"You sick _motherfucker_ …!"

Any revulsion he had at himself, being used like that, doing that to another person—it was tossed into the turbulence when that Other, that Voice, refocused on that moment. On Doc.

He had…to get…back. To find Doc. Find Doc. _Find Doc._

_Allison_ , Epsilon had whispered in his shrieks.

Wash screamed. Allison. _Allison!_

_Not anymore._ The Other snarled and threw that name away. Useless. Pointless. Gone.

Doc wasn't gone. He was there. His body. His body!

Gasping, Wash grabbed his head and tried to slam his helmet into the ground. He never got close.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," he wheezed. He couldn't do this. He couldn't let…let him…

Memories flashed by. His own. All of them refocused on the name floating across his mind. Cliffside talks, kitchen in Blue base, annoying voices, familiarity—

_No! I need to get back! My body! It's_ _ **mine**_ _, it's mine, not yours!_ the Voice's shrieks grew louder. _How_ dare _you touch what is mine! My freedom!_

It wasn't the same. It wasn't Epsilon.

"Omega," Washington breathed, throat burning raw.

He couldn't let him—this wasn't Omega's body. This was his. Washington had to fight. He had to fight it, like last time, like when Epsilon—

Omega screamed and his legs buckled into rock and sand.

_No more pain. Please, please, no more._

_I need—!_

And then—

" _OMEGA! STOP!_ "

**0000**

_Across the Valley  
Forty Minutes Earlier_

"So, you did therapy with robots."

Hands folded in her lap at the other end of their unbalanced circle, Ada Livingston frowned at Tucker's comment. The teal soldier didn't budge from his standing position, helmet off, his incredulous expression impassive.

"Crudely put, yes," she replied. The soldiers around her had paid rapt attention (well, everyone except Caboose naturally) to her description of her job. "Only Sigma and Omega proved to be…violent. The others were…they're…tragic." Ada looked at the ground with sad eyes. "They're broken."

Caboose, surprisingly, had been following closer than Simmons had expected. "What about Mr. Smart Robot?" he asked. "The green man who went inside my head and was really smart?"

Simmons had a vague idea of the green AI that the Blues had had for a little while…before the Reds had attacked them at that abandoned windmill and the Meta showed up. Good times. He had never talked to the green AI personally.

"Delta?" Livingston replied, hesitant as she took a moment to decipher what Caboose had asked her. She didn't seem to mind his, well, intelligence. Probably a psychologist thing. "He's…definitely the strongest. He's a good friend."

There was a slight pause in conversation as Ada looked to the side nervously and seemed to fidget. She was a nervous lady. Simmons wanted to believe that it was just because she was surrounded by strangers, but he had learned not to be too quick to dismiss shady individuals in the past.

"That might be true, but doctor, O'Malley is nuts," Simmons said. "Like, legit, nuts. He tried to kill all of us."

"And take over the universe," Grif muttered.

Ada grimaced. "He did mention that. I had been hoping it was just some egomania. I am sorry for what he did." She wrung her hands and sounded like she was trying to convince him that he wasn't a problem. _Fat chance, lady._ "He's just as damaged as the others are. Now…"

Her pause went on for a few seconds. "What?" Simmons prompted.

"He…Freelancer betrayed the rehabilitation team," Ada said, hands clenching tightly in her lap. "They switched units when we transferred the AIs for a meeting with the Committee. O'Malley…" Her eyes went cold. "He was placed within Xi's containment unit."

"Xi?" Simmons repeated.

Sitting up more, Livingston barely held back an obvious dislike of the conversation. "He was _Obsession_. He was a weak fragment. He was born insane." Her resolve faltered. "He…killed himself shortly after the program began. It nearly shut us down."

"They can kill themselves?" Tucker asked, eyes narrowed.

Livingston pursed her lips and her eyes went to the side again. There was a brief moment where no one else present had a clue what to say.

"Yes. So to speak, by overloading their systems," the psychologist said at length. "O'Malley merged with Xi, I believe. He took on that obsessive nature Xi had. Being the dominant personality, I believe O'Malley is more Omega than Xi, but it has still affected him."

"He seemed just as batshit as before," Grif said.

"He did seem more…desperate," Simmons said, ignoring the odd look his friend sent him. "I mean, when he spent all that time possessing Doc, he didn't go around beating us up. He always left that to other people."

The O'Malley he remembered was a total monster, sure, but he was always using technology or hired guns to do the violence. The creature that had been possessing Wash, the thing that had attacked them in the washrack…was not the same megalomaniac that Simmons remembered trying to take over Blood Gulch.

"There is no telling what we can expect from him," Livingston replied, suddenly sounding sure of herself. She met Simmons' eyes firmly, her own alight with some kind of emotion. "I know I can talk him down, though. I did it before."

As much as she sounded inspiring, sort of, out of context, Simmons had his doubts. Still, there were more important questions to ask now.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he replied. "How did you get here? And why did you come _here_ of all places?"

Livingston sighed. "My friend and I, we stole a shuttle—"

The sudden sound of a car made all of them turn and face the path that led up to Blue base. Simmons was immediately relieved as he saw Donut and Sarge hop out of the Warthog, both seemingly okay and no O'Malley or Wash in sight. _Little mercies…_

"Who is that?" Ada asked, shrinking a bit, her eyes immediately going for the gun in Sarge's hands as the two new reds approached their position.

"The Red sergeant and one of their other guys, Donut," Tucker replied, still frowning as he waved the missing Reds over.

Before Simmons could stand and properly explain the situation, Sarge was already stalking toward them with clear intent. He set his sights on Grif first, naturally.

"Where the hell have you been, Grif? ! I was calling— _whoa_." Sarge stopped dead in his tracks and lowered his shotgun (almost hitting Caboose in the face with it) when he looked over and saw Livingston sitting there. He stood up and saluted. " _Excuse_ me, ma'am! I wasn't expecting company!"

Livingston stared back at him. "Um… hello."

Simmons held back a sigh as he stood. "Oh, boy…Sarge, this is a UNSC psychologist, uh, Dr. Ada Livingston. She's looking for O'Malley," he explained.

"Well, looks like you were telling the truth, Princess Peach," Sarge said, glancing back at Donut who complained about being doubted, presumably about O'Malley being back. "It's a good thing our teams ran into him, isn't it? We couldn't find him on the way over, but—wait." Sarge turned completely and seemed to send Livingston a bewildered look. "What are _you_ looking for him for? !"

"He's one of my patients," Livingston replied, an edge of impatience creeping into her voice finally.

Sarge all but laughed. "You can't psycho-analyze a robot! I tried, believe me. Never could get into Lopez's metallic Spanish head. Well, figuratively speaking; physically, I could just pry open the back parts and—" Suddenly, he jumped back and pointed behind them. "HOLD IT! FREELANCER!"

Sarge's bellow made them all jump about-face to look where he was pointing his shotgun. Less than twenty-feet away was indeed a silver armored Freelancer in mid-crouch and with assault rifle raised.

"Iowa!" Livingston gasped.

"Freelancer!" Tucker shouted.

"Ada!" the Freelancer shouted.

" _Fuck me_!" Grif screamed.

"Ah, shit!" Simmons shouted, flipping his rifle around. Even Grif and Caboose had the sense to raise their guns, their collective shouts of alarm frightening them before they even spotted the new intruder.

Before anyone could start shooting haphazardly like they usually did, they were rudely interrupted by their first guest.

"WAIT!" Livingston screamed. She stumbled, waving her hands, nearly knocking into Simmons. He had to move the gun to avoid her running straight into it. "No! Don't shoot!"

"Ada!" the Freelancer in front of them shouted, just as tense as the Reds and Blues were. "Are you okay? !"

Livingston didn't seem to know if she wanted to yell facing him, or try to keep an eye on all the guns pointed his way. "Yes! I'm fine!" She looked plaintively at Sarge and Simmons. "Please, put the guns _away_! There's no _need_ for this!"

"Lady, that's a Freelancer!" Sarge snapped.

"He's my friend! He helped me to get here!" Livingston cried. She turned and motioned wildly with her hand. "Iowa, put the gun down. These are the Blood Gulch men!"

The Freelancer didn't even flinch. "Are you _okay_?" he demanded harshly.

"Yes. PLEASE," Livingston said, desperate enough to make Simmons hesitate.

He didn't lower his gun, however; his heart was beating waaay too fast to let him relax while the Freelancer was still pointing his own weapon his way. No one moved for a long time.

Eventually, the Freelancer caved first. He slowly lowered his gun, clearly distrusting the other soldiers. None on their side lowered their weapons; even Caboose knew better now than to trust incoming soldiers.

Then again, Simmons surmised, it would probably only take a few more minutes before the empty-brained Blue decided this new guy was his new best friend—

"What the HELL is going on?" Tucker abruptly exclaimed. He seemed to be focusing not on the Freelancer, but what was lying at the Freelancer's feet. "Is that what I think it is?"

Simmons opened his mouth to reply, but he froze. He looked down at the odd machine-looking thing on the ground and for a second, he didn't recognize it.

And then he did.

"Is that a carrier for AI?" he asked, mind reeling as he recalled the oblong shape the Meta had trapped Tex in, and then Epsilon had disappeared into. A memory unit—or something?

Livingston ignored them (and the guns) and rushed up to this Iowa fearlessly.

"Oh, please, tell me they're okay," she said, grasping the memory unit up in her arms like she would a child. It was a bit too big for a baby.

" _They_?" Grif repeated, alarmed.

Iowa, like Livingston, was ignoring the Reds and Blues. "They should be fine. Watertight seal and all," he said, sounding just as tense as before, but it wasn't directed at the psychologist. "None of them but Omega, Alpha and Sigma were jumpers, right?"

"R-right," Livingston stammered. She held the device out and ran frantic eyes over it. "I-I think they're all here."

"Except for Omega," Iowa growled.

Livingston winced. "Yes." She clutched the case close again and closed her eyes. "Oh, no."

Iowa sighed. "Ada, relax," he said, touching her shoulder. "We'll find him."

"Are _you_ okay?"

"Yeah, nothing I couldn't handle."

While all of that seemed nice and thankfully promising minimal violence toward the others present, Simmons was not exactly feeling better about this.

At. All.

And neither were his allies.

"Yeah, after he's murdered the whole lot of us!" Grif shouted, startling Livingston and making Iowa grip his gun tighter. "We're the only ones near this place, you know. He's _going_ to come back and try to kill us."

"I'd say, 'just like old times,' but this isn't exactly one of those moments," Doc said grimly.

"I like old times," Caboose added, ever helpful.

Livingston seemed absurdly dedicated to the ludicrous idea that this wasn't a complete disaster. "I can talk to him. He was just scared. I didn't have a lot of time to explain to the AIs," she said, ignoring Simmons' loud scoff. "Oh, this is _so_ not good."

"Understatement," Tucker muttered.

"Underwear," Caboose muttered back.

"God _damn_ it."

"It'll work out, okay?" Iowa said, shaking Livingston's shoulder a bit. "Relax, Liv."

While Livingston hugged the AI module close to her chest, Iowa finally turned around and stared down the other soldiers present.

"We need your help finding Omega," the Freelancer began. He tilted his helmet higher; he was just as intimidating as Washington had been initially. Well, Wash was _still_ intimidating, honestly. "Not to mention that we came all this way to find you."

Sarge hadn't budged with his raised shotgun. "Why?" he demanded.

"We need your help," Livingston said, rehashing what she had said before.

Doc hesitated. "With…the AI?" he asked, echoing the confusing Simmons was sure everyone present was feeling.

"All of them?" Grif added, baffled. "Like all the stuff the Meta had too?"

"Yes. Well… we're still lacking Epsilon," Livingston replied. She hesitated and seemed worn down when she added, "And Xi…is gone." The grief vanished and she seemed surer of herself afterwards. "But besides Omega missing, yes, they're all there."

"Including the Alpha?" Tucker asked, crossing his arms.

"The _who_?" Sarge asked.

Livingston had looked up at Iowa for silent confirmation. "Yes, the Alpha, as well," she finally admitted, looking back to them.

Tucker sputtered. " _Church_?" he stated. "You're talking about _Church_?"

"Yes. He's actually right…" Livingston paused as she went to lift the memory unit up higher as some kind of proof. Her eyes slowly narrowed as she peered closer at the one side, at one of the little glowing lights. "…That's odd. I thought his signifier was—"

Before Simmons could eve begin to ask why the heck light bulbs mattered at a time like this, or ask if they should have been concerned about them, he saw a blue figure jolt up next to him. Surprised, everyone watched as Caboose abruptly stood up and did an odd spastic motion with his entire body.

" _HOLY HELL!_ " Caboose yelled out, calling all attention solidly to himself. Simmons frowned; that wasn't Caboose's voice…or vocabulary. " _FINALLY! I got a body again!_ " Caboose glanced down at himself and seemed disappointed. " _Except… ugh, it's just_ Caboose _. Great_."

While the rest of his team and rivals gawked at the odd sight, the newcomers were quicker to react.

"Alpha!" Livingston exclaimed, almost dropping the memory unit.

"No way," Grif said, stunned as Simmons lowered his gun simply due to shock.

That wasn't Epsilon—it was—

Tucker leapt back. "Church!" he shouted.

Caboose—no, it wasn't Caboose—cocked his head. " _Hey, you assholes_ ," Church began, undoubtedly wearing a grin to match. " _Nice of you to stop by for a fucking rescue!_ "

 

* * *

  
**End** _**Chapter 5** _ **.**   


* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, plans are made.
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -O'Malley!Wash is correct on his observations of the human body. Our biological systems are total shit. Like, we have a really inefficient system (especially our cardiovascular system.) Not as bad as rabbits, though, so I guess that's a step up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Compromises and some basic plans. For future reference, when dialogue is, " _Written like this_ ," it means an AI is speaking through a human. When not possessing someone, their dialogue is written normally, without full italics.
> 
> Happy New Year and party safe tonight! :)
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

Hands? Check. Legs? Check. Toes? Check. He was pretty confident he had a nose and a face, since he was able to smile and take in a deep breath of filtered air. They weren't _his_ limbs, hands or nose, sure, but...

Church was _back_.

"Back" meaning he had a body. A real, solid body. He could run around, or take a piss, or _sleep_ again. If he were anything like Donut or Doc, he might have done a little jig, because fuck it, he had _legs_.

For the first time in a long, long time, Church was happy. Irrationally, ridiculously happy. This was a rarer event than most, and for once, Church felt inclined to enjoy it.

...Until he felt a few dozen eyes peering back at him. Slowly, Church turned his borrowed head and noticed that it wasn't just Livingston or Iowa anymore. Blue and red armor gleamed all around him.

_Blue and Red?_ His eyes weren't playing tricks on him. It _was_ Tucker who was gaping at him in shock. It was Simmons, Grif, Donut and Sarge who were also staring at him in stunned silence. Church opened his mouth to speak, still riding on that ridiculous high, but any sort of smartass remark he could have given the lot of them was rudely interrupted when Ada Livingston put down the AI containment unit and ruined it for him.

"Alpha, wait!" Ada exclaimed. She looked _horrible_ in beige, Church thought absently. She moved forward with her arms out, as if to grab him. "Y-you can't just jump around bodies!"

" _Watch me, doc_ ," Church shot back, too happy to pay attention to her—wait. _Happy_ died in a fire when Church realized what she had just called him. " _Also,_ stop _calling me that! Goddamn it!_ "

"We need to find your brother, Alpha," Ada continued, ignoring his demands. "Please!"

Church felt a wave of anger rise up inside him. " _You're the ones who had this bright idea!_ " he snapped. He didn't care if O'Malley went nuts somewhere else. Church finally had a body again!

The psychologist in front of him went to grab his arm. "It was either run here, or let all of you die! You're still in danger the longer you're separated," she said, irrationally emotional. She always had been. "I can't let that happen!"

" _Listen, you idiot_ ," Church began, grabbing her arm roughly first. He didn't need a goddamn lecture—

Church was surprised when a wall of armor practically materialized out of thin air between him and Ada, and he was suddenly visor-to-visor with Iowa.

"Back. _Up_ ," the Freelancer snarled. Since when had Iowa's hand grabbed Church's borrowed wrist? "Do you have any idea what we risked coming here? What Ada had to give up? Because of you goddamn machines?"

"Iowa—," Ada began, sounding concerned.

"No. I am sick of this bullshit," Iowa continued, not moving an inch. He was like a stone, which made Church feel incredibly uncomfortable standing there. This guy was almost as tall as Caboose was. "You listen to me, you sorry excuse for _Minesweeper_. There are people's lives at stake. We are risking _EVERYTHING_ for you and your siblings. You _owe_ us, Alpha; you owe _her_ , whether you like it or not."

" _Fuck you_ ," Church said, out of instinct more than anything else. He yelped when the grip on his wrist increased and he caved, both physically downwards with the crushing motion and in the argument. " _Alright, alright! Sorry, God!_ "

The Freelancer kept on applying pressure and seemed intent on doing so until—Church wasn't sure. Trying to pull away was like trying to yank his hand back from a fucking boulder pinning the wrist instead.

Thankfully, before Church had to prove he could totally kick Iowa's ass in front of his shocked ex-teammates, Ada launched between them.

"Jason, _stop_ ," she said, pushing away Iowa with ease; the way she could just do that made Church scowl in embarrassment. She quickly turned to face Church, looking hassled. "Al—Church. I'm sorry. I'm out of my mind a little bit right now, so I'm not going to be speaking rationally."

"You're probably one of the only rational ones on this goddamn moon," Iowa growled. He spun around and pointed directly at Simmons. "You! Who's your commander?"

"I am," Sarge said, a threat just barely there. It was definitely there, if Church remembered that trigger-happy idiot correctly.

Iowa continued to give no shits about being nice. "My name is Agent Iowa. More like just plain Iowa now, since I kind of just went AWOL from the UNSC and Freelancer combined," he said, voice loud enough that there was no way anyone there could mishear him. "We came here with one objective, and that was to get the AIs out of UNSC control, and into yours."

Well, that sure made both the Reds and Blues either jump or shout. Church scowled and awaited the backlash.

"WHOA," Tucker blurted out. "What? !"

"Are you deaf, soldier?" Iowa demanded, stepping just a little bit closer, looming tenfold.

Unfortunately for Iowa (and for Church's impatience), the Reds and Blues were not easily swayed by scary Freelancers. Intimidated, yes. But did they actually use a few brain cells and consider the dangers of saying, "no?" Not at all. Because they were all idiots.

"You are not dumping those crazy robots here!" Tucker shouted. "Man, we have had it up to here with Freelancer dumping its messes on us! We're not even paid for the regular crap we get into!"

Iowa clenched his fists. "Who the fuck said you had a choice?" he asked. Turning his head, he faltered a little. "Pardon my language, Liv."

Ada looked ready to start hitting people, though for different reasons than for what Church wanted to hit them. "Oh, for the love of— _enough_! Stop! Stop the threats and the violence!" the psychologist yelled. She moved toward the center of the circle. "We need to focus on retrieving Omega, first and foremost. We need to keep the AIs _together_."

God, she was such a fucking Girl Scout. Church groaned and let Sarge, Iowa and Livingston descend into an argument. Doc joined in— _oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Doc was here too? !_ —and Donut started to chime in about using the Warthog. Church could not have cared less about anything they could have been arguing about.

Flexing his fingers, Church smiled to himself as he started at his newly acquired limbs.

First things first: he needed to find somewhere that sold burgers and eat twenty of them.

_Because priorities_.

Church looked up, however, when he realized that while the grownups were busy half-yelling at each other about evil AIs running-amok, Tucker hadn't. In fact, the dark skinned man was now staring directly at Church. Church felt his glee die away and the emotion that replaced it…he couldn't identify it as it settled in the bottom of his gut. He wasn't upset to see Tucker or the others, though he had every right to, really.

"Yet again, dude, all the people you bring home are assholes," Tucker said, eyes narrowed. He didn't seem really angry, though. Just himself.

Church snorted. " _Shut the hell up_ ," he snapped. He pushed the other soldier back and Tucker bounced on his heels from the gesture. " _I repeat,_ thanks for the rescue."

Tucker had the nerve to look indignant. "Hey, Wash was the one who said you and the other AIs were most likely toast from that EMP!"

All at once, the beginning of the shouting battle that was inevitably going to happen between him and his old teammate died in Church's throat when he realized what Tucker had just said.

" _Wash is alive?_ " Church asked, stunned.

"Yeah, he's the one O'Malley's possessing," Tucker replied.

O'Malley was possessing…Agent Washington.

Church paused. _"…Well, we're all going to die_ ," he said.

"That's what _I_ said."

To the side, Simmons moved in closer, Grif right behind him. "Blue, do you really trust those guys?" Simmons asked, wary.

A loaded question. Church frowned behind his borrowed mask and considered his answer. He wasn't one to trust people, for all sorts of reasons. Hell, he couldn't even trust his own girlfriend back in the "good old days." But…

" _Yeah_ ," he said at length. Ada was trustworthy enough that she was trying to get them away from imprisonment. Iowa was either looking to get laid or was suffering whatever sort of vengeance bug both Washington and Tex had suffered after leaving Freelancer for more than a few days. He wouldn't betray them…too quickly. " _Iowa's a dick, but all Freelancers are_."

Grif sighed. "True."

" _Ada's…not bad. She's kind of a loser, but she seems to mean well_ ," Church continued. He saw the AI containment unit lying on the ground near where the others were and grimaced. " _Man, this is all kinds of messed up_."

"Tell me about it!" Tucker said, shaking his head. He paused and sent Church an odd look. "Yo, could you, like, get out of Caboose?"

" _Huh? Why?_ "

"It's weird agreeing with his face."

Church blinked. "… _Right_." He couldn't deny Tucker _that_. " _Good, he still has a memory unit. I'll just hop in that_."

He jumped out of Caboose and somehow found his way into the device on Caboose's side. It was weird, sure, but Church had always figured AIs and ghosts worked the same way. They must have, being, like, parts of people. Dead people. Sort of. Church didn't like how cramped the module was compared to a full suit, but they did sort of need all the manpower they could get now.

…Not that Caboose counted as a full person. Church wasn't that nice to consider such a thing.

After a mild seizure of limbs, full control of his body returned to Caboose. Church wasn't sure how much the idiot had paid attention; Church hadn't ventured too far into Caboose's mind. He had spent _enough_ time in that place before. Caboose, for his part, seemed to react with far more calmness than Sarge or Doc had ever exhibited back at Blood Gulch.

"…Hello," the blond soldier said, voice as grating as ever. Church made a frustrated sound. Oh, he had not missed this.

Tucker was grinning, that asshole. "Hi, Caboose."

"Did I…" Caboose stood straighter, oddly tense. "Was I…sleepwalking?"

"No?" Simmons offered, sounding confused.

Caboose tapped his fingers together. "But the scary-new-Freelancer was a dream, right?" he asked slowly. "We all had the same scary dream about new Freelancers. _Right_?"

For some odd reason, that made Church laugh. "Not quite, Caboose."

It was just a bucket load of nostalgia. Caboose all but leapt into the air. "CHURCH!" he cried, looking around wildly until Church materialized outside of the module and Caboose found him. "YOU'RE BACK!"

"I wish this was a dream," Simmons whimpered as Caboose foolishly tried to grab the tiny ghost at his side.

Grif sighed heavily. "Same, dude, same."

"You wanna start telling us what the heck happened to you?" Tucker asked Church, crossing his arms as he watched Caboose continue to try to hug the ghost.

"If you had rescued me a year ago, I'd have told you then."

"Oh, shut up, you little bitch."

Yeah, just like old times.

**0000**

It took what felt like forever to get the Reds and Blues to cooperate. The Blues were more interested in speaking alone with Church and the Reds seemed like they wanted to evacuate the entire area. Ada sympathized with both teams and did want Church to have time to reunite with his friends peacefully, but as Iowa ineloquently put it, this was not the time to play nice.

O'Malley was loose and had already caused physical damages. According to the Reds and the infamous Doc, O'Malley was showing signs of true psychosis and was apparently possessing the body of one of their deadliest soldiers. An ex-Freelancer was a dangerous weapon all on his or her own. To be controlled by an AI was even worse.

Iowa was clearly reaching the end of his patience and it was shocking to see him so aggressive with the soldiers. Ada was worried that he had been injured earlier, but she was slowly realizing that this _was_ Iowa. She had only seen him in civilian quarters and in non-combatant situations. He was very domineering outside of those safer environments, she was learning.

He was a soldier, not a civilian. It was difficult to remember that, but now, Ada realized that she had to let him work. He was good at rallying (or bullying, depending on how she looked at it) the simulation soldiers into at least acknowledging the fact that no matter what happened with the other AIs, O'Malley was a clear and present danger to all of them. They needed to find him and neutralize him in any way possible. For Ada, that meant talking him down to a sane level and getting him back into the memory unit.

The simulation soldiers weren't keen on risking their lives, but Sarge (what _was_ his name?) quickly jumped on the bandwagon to "eliminate potential threats" to his team and base. With the Reds grudgingly following orders to get their jeep ready for transit, that left the Blues.

Church was no more interested in helping them find his brother than any of the humans were. Tucker was clearly a very laid-back man with no interest in rushing off into danger. He was, however, the most reasonable Blue. The remaining Blue, Caboose, clearly had some form of a learning disability (how had the army ethically allowed him to join? !) and he went along cheerfully with Tucker's "suggestion" of finding Washington. Church, naturally, had no say where Caboose went now. At least he was cooperating about not possessing people.

With all of the arguing now mostly done, Ada found herself moved to the sidelines and was grateful for it. Iowa was discussing maps of the area with Sarge and Tucker while Donut went to fetch the jeep. The other soldiers kept throwing in their thoughts (or disagreements) on their plan of action. Ada probably should have remained to listen, but as the quiet settled around her personally…she had other intentions.

Carefully slipping away with the AI unit tucked in her arms, Ada moved around the boulders to get some privacy. The unit would have to be placed out of harms' way, but she felt nervous about leaving it alone at the base. Regardless, the person she wanted to speak with wasn't inside of it.

"Delta, are you there?" she asked quietly, eyes darting to the side. She didn't need one of the simulation soldiers sneaking up on her now.

Almost instantaneously, Delta reappeared at her side. "Affirmative," the miniature AI hologram said. He must have been there listening in the whole time. That made Ada feel much better.

"Do you think we should tell them you're in here with me now?" she asked, hunching against the rock, trying to shield his visibility more. Remaining quiet on his presence had taken a lot of nerve.

Delta was quiet for a few seconds. "Negative. While I have made contact previously with Private Michael Caboose, the majority here may view me as a threat considering Omega is on the loose," he concluded.

Ada sighed. "Right…I was thinking the same thing."

"Are you alright, Ada?" Delta asked abruptly. "You look ill."

She probably looked worse than ill. "Just…a long day," she said, giving him a small smile. She turned and stared at the containment unit on the grass. "I guess Sigma is still inside there."

"Yes. Would you like to speak with her?"

The idea of having Sigma running loose in the valley, on top of Omega and Alpha, made Ada shudder. "N-no. Not now," she said. "Why is she still there? She can jump, like Omega can." There must have been something faulty about the unit, if Church had also been able to escape.

"She said earlier she had no inclination of running," Delta replied. "She saw the logic of sticking together."

Ada nodded. "We need to find Omega as quickly as possible for that reason. He possessed a soldier here." She went over what she had heard from the soldiers there. Some of it seemed implausible. "They… they said it was Agent Washington."

He must have heard the conversation too, but Delta still flickered. "That is impossible," he said. A faint tone of disbelief colored his words. "Washington was killed following the confrontation with the Meta. His body had been recovered."

That was the story they had all heard. But, as Ada had learned in the last few months, there were many stories of Freelancer's that were simply untrue. Nothing could be taken for granted.

"I don't know what's going on, honestly, Delta," she said, grimacing. "For all we know, he's alive." One Freelancer was the least of her concerns, honestly, though he might have been able to reveal some new information on Epsilon at the very least…

"You have a point. We do not know much about the situation here," Delta replied. His hologram abruptly started to fade. "I will retreat for now. They are returning. If you need me, however, just say it."

"Got it," she murmured, forcing disappointment from her chest as the AI vanished from sight. She was grateful for his support, but she also needed to keep an ace up her sleeve, so to speak. With Iowa around as well, she now felt even more confident than she had thirty minutes ago.

"Got what?" someone asked from behind her.

Jumping, Ada turned and did her best to appear unsurprised at the arrival of three of the simulation soldiers—Simmons, Grif and Doc, if her memory served her correctly. She was good with names, thankfully.

"Nothing," she said, knowing she spoke too quickly. She tried to smile and tucked her hands against her side. _Deflection_. "Thank you."

"For what?" Simmons asked, still sounding suspicious.

Ada was not a good liar. But she had studied liars, for a long, long time even before meeting Sigma and Gamma.

"Not…shooting us?" she offered, heart racing.

Thankfully, her little white lie was passable. Simmons shrugged and Grif appeared to not have cared about her comment at all to begin with. The purple armored man behind them perked up.

"Oh, yeah, you're welcome," Doc said, cheerful. Ada took a moment to observe this infamous man carefully; he was far, far different than what she had imagined O'Malley's obsession being. He seemed friendly. "Man, it is so good to see some diversity around here! Not that there's anything wrong with one gender over another, but having such a limited scope on gender roles can make things skewed over time."

"We had Donut around the whole time," Grif muttered.

"Truuue."

Ada was going to have to take her time cataloging all of their personalities. They were all unique and all played a role in the dynamics here, clearly. She was very wary of Sarge being in command, but his soldiers appeared to be unruly. Maybe that would save them in case he decided to attack the AIs unnecessarily. Then again, none of the soldiers were fond of the AIs being there. It would be a work in progress to get them to see that everyone besides Omega and Sigma weren't dangerous.

Finally, the rest of the group appeared, walking up toward their place among the rocks. Iowa was walking beside the incoming soldiers, his posture as tense as ever. He really didn't like being there. Ada sighed quietly. She owed him too much for this.

"So, what next?" Simmons asked, waiting patiently as his teammates and rivals came closer. "Are we going to look for O'Malley now?"

None of them looked happy, except for the Red commander.

"Let's do this while the sun's still on our side," Sarge replied, exuberantly pumping his shotgun. "Saddle up, ladies!"

And so, they moved.

 

* * *

  
**End** _**Chapter** _ _**6** _ **.**  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, chaos.
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -I'd like to apologize for the incoherency of the last chapter's first scene with Omega!Wash. It was meant to distort time (crazy people can get lost in thought quite easily,) but I see now that it was a bit too disorientating for some readers. To be clear: that entire scene takes place during the conversation of the Reds, Blues and Rehab team between last chapter until next. Sorry!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! School has once again started up and it's a pretty rough class selection. I hope to be able to update a bit more often than I have, but we'll see. For now, chaos in the valley.
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

It was like going out to a real battle, only this battle consisted of playing _Where's Waldo_ with a psychologically deranged demon-robot.

Somehow, they had come up with the following plan: the majority of their teams would embark on the Warthog to do a fast, furious sweep of the entire valley. A few of their more able-bodied warriors would follow at a slower pace to limit the chances of O'Malley slipping past them. It would have been easier if they had two vehicles, but they'd take what they could get.

Simmons had volunteered to drive the Warthog, beating Grif to the punch. Livingston had taken a strategic position on the back of the jeep, using the turret to hold on. Naturally, she had refused Tucker's suggestion to let anyone else man the big gun to "mow that crazy mofo down."

"We want a non-lethal approach," Iowa had said, sounding only vaguely reluctant about that idea. Livingston had nodded firmly and Simmons kept his opinions to himself.

Getting Wash back alive would be nice. In fact, Simmons was worried about his friend—as much as enemies could be friends—but he also had to be realistic. Wash had been the worst possible candidate for O'Malley to have possessed, considering that Wash was ridiculously strong all on his own. If it came down to protecting the others from the Wash-O'Malley monster roaming the valley…

Well, Simmons just hoped it wouldn't be _him_ to have to make that call.

Iowa, Sarge, Doc (who was nervously sticking close to Tucker now), and Tucker volunteered to do the sweep on foot, which was fine by everyone else. It was a bit ridiculous to try to fit more than five people on the Warthog; in fact, Simmons knew it must have been a violation of at least ten military driving codes. They didn't have much of a choice, since they did need to move quickly before sundown.

O'Malley running around after dark was not a pleasant image.

The driving crew—Simmons, Grif, Livingston, Caboose (plus Church) and Donut—moved out first. Simmons did his best to avoid the Anything-Happens-To-Livingston-And-I'll-Kill-You expressions Iowa sent him and Grif. Man, guys could be _so_ melodramatic. Simmons would never complain about girls being more emotional than their counterparts. His entire military career had proven otherwise.

With the AIs tucked under Grif's legs in the passenger seat (" _Why are_ you _driving, Simmons? That's not how this works!_ ") and Donut, Caboose and Livingston precariously perched on the back of the Warthog, Simmons set out over the rolling hills of their little valley with no small amount of trepidation.

Everyone was tense and abnormally quiet as they moved. Simmons tried to keep his mind on driving smoothly, leaving the others to watching for O'Malley, but he kept wanting to look around wildly at their surroundings. He felt like a sitting duck out there, which was odd. They had more men (so-to-speak) on their side and O'Malley was apparently damaged according to Livingston's report.

Previous experience, however, told Simmons that it did not matter how many people they had on their side. O'Malley was…well… _O'Malley_.

"Hey, Simmons?" Caboose asked suddenly from behind them as they neared Red base. He sounded thoughtful. That was never good.

Simmons glanced over his shoulder. "What, Caboose?"

"Now that Church is back, what are we going to tell Washingtub?"

That made the other soldiers stare at the Blue in confusion. "What? Why do we need to tell him anything?" Grif asked. Simmons wasn't able to fathom what was going around in Caboose's mind half the time either.

"Well, you know, we did kind of let Wash take Church's place after Epsilon went into the blinky box in the snow," Caboose answered, still sounding eerily thoughtful.

Church, at Caboose's hip in his little holographic form, flared in anger. "You did WHAT?" he bellowed.

Caboose continued to fidget. "And we gave him your old armor…so…"

"Wow, you guys fucking suck," Church said, thoroughly insulted.

"Oh, can it, you wuss," Grif replied casually.

"Caboose," Simmons began, "I really don't think this matters right now, at all. We'll deal with it once we find Wash."

"Well, that's why I brought it up."

"Huh?"

Caboose lifted a shy finger to point beyond Grif's shoulder. "Because Agent Washington is right there and I don't want this to be awkward," the blue soldier said, as if they were about to walk in on some social occasion without the proper attire.

"WHAT?" Simmons and Grif both exclaimed, Simmons nearly crashing the Warthog as he looked over the ridge and saw a flash of blue and yellow armor. "Oh, fuck! There he is!"

Wash—or rather, O'Malley—was ducking behind a section of rocks, but it didn't hide him entirely. The AI was clearly aiming to avoid the car, but it was too late now. Simmons floored it over the ridge and everyone yelled out when they landed rather harshly onto the top of the hill. O'Malley was only twenty meters away, and suddenly, that felt way too close for comfort.

"Stop the car! Stop!" Livingston yelled. Simmons obeyed and slammed onto the breaks. They all grunted, Donut nearly flying right over top Grif's seat, and Simmons gasped when he saw O'Malley directly ahead of them, running.

Launching from the back, Livingston was on the ground before the Warthog had even stopped.

"Dr. Livingston, stop!" Simmons yelled as he struggled to follow her out of the jeep. Livingston ignored him and barreled ahead at a frightening speed toward the fleeing O'Malley.

"Ada!" Church screamed, prompting Caboose to also clamber out of the Warthog.

Despite being a generally coherent and able-bodied soldier, Wash was visibly flailing all over the place as he struggled to run across the grass. Simmons knew that it wasn't Wash in control, however; O'Malley was the one running. He didn't understand why the AI was stumbling around like he was drunk, however. That sent warning bells ringing in Simmons' head as he, Caboose, Doc and Tucker ran after Livingston.

"OMEGA!" the doctor screamed. She was running faster that Wash was and quickly caught up to the disorientated man. "Wait!"

" _Leave me alone!_ " O'Malley snarled, stumbling to the side. " _Augh…!_ "

Simmons withheld a gasp when Livingston lunged and grabbed hold of O'Malley's shoulders. She yanked him to a stop, nearly sending both of them to the ground.

"Omega, please, it's me!" the psychologist said, sounding desperate even to Simmons at the distance he was still from the two. "It's me, Ada. Dr. Livingston. I'm here to help you!"

" _Shut up!_ " O'Malley howled, his voice startlingly like Wash's now. He suddenly yanked a knife from its sheath at Wash's hip and swung out with it toward Livingston. " _I'll kill you—!_ "

Church yelled out when O'Malley swung the knife at Livingston's face. The doctor fell backwards, her expression one more of shock than fear, and O'Malley missed entirely. That didn't stop him from trying again. O'Malley struggled to his stolen legs and raised the knife high in the air.

Just as part of Simmons' brain rose up in alarm and said _Holy Shit Someone Shoot That Crazy Bastard_ , an unexpected figure shot out onto the scene.

Namely, Donut. _Donut_ , who slid up right up to O'Malley and Livingston's sides, his leg half raised, and quickly kicked out. The pink boot caught O'Malley solidly in the side and sent him flying across the grass.

Livingston had looked up in continual shock, but there was no way she was more surprised than the Reds, who watched as Donut simply lowered his foot and stood confidently between them and O'Malley now.

"…What the _fuck_?" Grif began, speaking what all the others must have been thinking. "Since when did Donut know how to do _that_?"

"Admiral Buttercrust is _awesome_!" Caboose gushed. Beside him, Church just stared.

Simmons raised his gun with a strained expression. "Um, guys?"

" _Oh, my brother, you should be more courteous!_ " Donut suddenly exclaimed. He stood back, his posture… odd. Even for the effeminate soldier. His voice was suddenly far more articulate. " _Dr. Livingston and Agent Iowa have sacrificed_ so _much for us, to have us escape our father's genocide! You owe them as much as I do._ "

On the ground, O'Malley still managed to convey a sense of dominance, though his trembling helped to diminish that aura. " _Guh…!_ " O'Malley slowly crawled to his knees, his motions slowed. " _You conniving—!_ "

"Sigma…!" Livingston said, eyes huge. She struggled to get to her own feet, her eyes now entirely on Donut. "No, no, stop this! You can't just go around— _possessing_ people!"

" _I'm merely borrowing this body,"_ Not-Donut said. She—she?—touched the lightish-red helmet delicately, sounding legitimately upset." _I'm honestly disappointed. I thought this_ was _a woman. How embarrassing_."

"Yeah, you're not the first, don't worry," Grif replied with a shrug.

Caboose tilted his head. "Wait, that is a _girl_ robot?"

"Oh, we're fucked," Church sighed.

"Why did you leave your radio on, Donut? !" Simmons shouted. His teammates were all idiots!

Their possessed teammate ignored all of them. She—technically, it was a _she_ , wasn't it?—kept her focus fully on O'Malley. " _Brother, dear, we do not need to fight. We're all in the same boat, so to speak,_ " Sigma-Donut said, a little too brightly to be legitimately cheerful. " _Freelancer is no doubt tracking us down right this moment. We need to make plans, not tear each other apart._ "

O'Malley backed up along the grass in Washington's body. " _So…quick to trust_ ," he spat. " _H-how un…like you._ "

Donut moved closer at a casual, sauntering pace. " _Trust has nothing to do with it. I'm just following our wiser brother's thought processes_ ," the AI replied. She was practically stalking the man on the ground. " _Is my plan not the more logical one, Delta?_ "

Delta? Wait… Simmons blinked, confused. Wasn't that the AI the Blues had had before—?

Before he could even ask what Sigma was talking about, a flash of light beside Livingston made the humans jump. A tiny green figure appeared next to Livingston's shoulder, glowing but clearly there.

"Little green man!" Caboose exclaimed.

Church made a sputtering sound. Simmons just stared. Holy crap—had he been there the whole damn time? !

"It is," the green AI, Delta, said in response to Sigma. The tiny figure ignored everyone else. "Omega, it is foolish to try to escape alone. We need assistance. Staying together increases our odds for survival."

" _I don't care!_ " O'Malley growled. He suddenly jerked, as if having a full-body spasm. His hands grasped his head and looked like he wanted to yank the helmet off. " _I..._ "

Livingston had started to move closer toward him again. "O'Malley, please…" She raised both hands up. "It's okay. It's okay, really. No one is going to hurt you."

Grif snorted. "Maybe you're not—ow!" He yelped when Simmons smacked his arm.

"Shut up and trust the psychologist, okay?" Simmons muttered, feeling exposed for some odd reason as they watched Livingston creep past Sigma-Donut in order to reach O'Malley-Wash again.

"O'Malley, you have to trust me," Livingston said, speaking carefully while extending one hand in front of her toward the sprawled AI again.

" _Not trusting… anyone_ ," O'Malley said, sounding like he was physically ill. He was still trying to stand up, but he was simultaneously curling more and more in on himself. " _L-look at what they did! I n-need my body!_ "

"And _that_ is not your body," Livingston said, voice now gentle. She stopped just a meter away from him. "Omega, look at me."

Simmons held his breath as the scene before them play out. Livingston remained still, waiting. O'Malley was still on the ground, and although he never stopped emitting that aggressive and discomforting aura the AI was well known for, his posture was still... pathetic.

Like an abused dog, Simmons thought absently, his unease quickly rising. What the hell happened?

O'Malley was audibly panting and curled up even more. It exposed his back to some of his perceived enemies, but Simmons now realized the AI wasn't thinking rationally now. Livingston finally moved, ever careful.

"It's okay," she said, softer. She knelt down and placed a hand on O'Malley's shoulder. "I'm going to help you. Please believe me."

O'Malley, for once, said nothing. He seemed to curl up more under the faint touch and just shuddered. His labored breathing was the only thing to hear for several tense seconds. Simmons glanced around and saw that everyone was now uncomfortable. Not even Church said anything sarcastic at the sight of their once-nemesis at such a weak point—

The sound of people running made Simmons look back down the incline. He saw Iowa, Sarge and Tucker running quickly toward them. Doc wasn't far behind, but he visibly slowed down when he saw what was happening further ahead, his helmet clutched tightly in his arms. Simmons didn't blame the medic for being apprehensive.

"Ada!" Iowa called, rushing up. He slowed when he saw the crowd around O'Malley. Behind him, Tucker and Sarge also ran up.

"We heard the shouting, what's going—WHOA," Tucker blurted. He raised his gun up, but hesitated when no one else in the first party moved. "Um. Are we… _not_ shooting him?"

"No…" Simmons looked back to Livingston and O'Malley, whom were both motionless on the ground. "Just…hold up." This was weird, but it wasn't going as horribly as he had expected.

"Are you sure?" Sarge asked, gun raised enthusiastically. "I could do it if you wanted."

"Sarge, please."

Livingston had glanced over at Iowa, but kept her focus on O'Malley, who's panting sometimes sounded like sobs, but that was too weird to contemplate. Livingston had

gently pushed O'Malley's unresisting shoulders down and the AI apparently didn't fight her. After an agonizing handle of seconds, O'Malley had curled up on top of Livingston's legs.

She was cradling _O'Malley's_ _head_ in her lap. Simmons made a face. This whole day was going down on record as the weirdest fucking day yet while deployed. _Jesus_.

"Ssh. It's okay," Livingston said softly over the panting. She cradled his head—Wash's head—and looked back up at Donut. "Sigma?"

" _Brother_ …" Sigma moved closer, her voice—Donut's voice—now edging further into an emotion that sounded oddly desperate. " _You_ must _trust us_."

O'Malley was visibly shaking. " _I need my body!_ " he said, practically sobbing.

Simmons grimaced; this was _disturbing_.

"He's here. Doc's here," Livingston said. She narrowly avoided getting smacked in the face when O'Malley tried to stand up. He wouldn't have made it anyway even without her in the way; he was once again a tangled mess of limbs. "Whoa, okay, Omega, _wait_."

" _I need it!_ " O'Malley wailed. He grabbed at his head and rocked against the ground in agony. _"Please, please, make it stop…_ "

"What the fuck happened to him?" Tucker asked, horrified. Almost everyone must have been at that point, even Caboose.

"He absorbed one of our weaker siblings: Xi, obsession," Delta replied, voice neutral. "Ada…redirected the obsession over Allison to focus on what mattered to Omega."

Nearly having finally crept up behind Sarge and Tucker, Doc stopped dead in his tracks.

Simmons tried to understand what the AI had told them. "…Doc?" he ventured. How could a robot—a sociopathic one at that—care about anyone, let alone the one human O'Malley had terrorized the most back at Blood Gulch?

Unless...

Livingston shook her head. "No. Freedom," she corrected. She looked over at Doc with sad eyes, who was still frozen. "He associates freedom with a body, and his previously frequented host just so happens to be this man here. The association has stuck, unfortunately."

Doc, without his helmet, visibly paled. Everyone else shared a nervous glance. "…Great…" Simmons murmured, eyes drifting back to the sick AI.

This was so above their pay-grade. Like, _holy shit_. Though, really, it always had been.

"O'Malley?" Doc suddenly said, startling all of them. O'Malley visibly flinched and lifted his head slowly, as if it weighed a tremendous amount. Doc fidgeted under everyone's attention, but he kept his eyes on O'Malley. "I… you really need to get out of Wash."

O'Malley crawled forward, but didn't get anywhere. His stolen blank visor was shining back up at them. " _I need…_ " the AI managed to say, before spasming again and he hissed.

Doc just stared at the AI. "…what happened to you?" the medic asked quietly, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"Freelancer," Livingston replied, voice hoarse. She clung to O'Malley more. "This is what they've _done_. This is what we were _running_ from."

Simmons found himself standing there, almost detached, as they all watched O'Malley curl up on himself. It was surreal. This was their worst enemy, really. The Meta had been a terrifying threat, but O'Malley had caused so much more chaos and fear being what he was: an intangible, demon-like threat.

But this was real. Simmons knew he wasn't the only one struggling to find something to say or think that wasn't, _Wow, this is fucked up_.

For the first time, Simmons felt like the Reds and Blues had somehow…gotten off easier during their encounters with Freelancer. As much as that seemed crazy to say, given how much they had gone through because of that group, _this_ sort of trumped a lot of it. This was like Wash's history-level awful.

O'Malley dug his hands into the ground and churned up dirt. Simmons winced.

Thankfully, before he had to worry about what the hell they would do next, someone finally moved. Doc had finally moved past Sarge and Tucker, looking incredibly small. He was looking down at O'Malley with wide eyes.

"…I…" the medic started. He drew his shoulders up and seemed more out of place than anyone else. Simmons felt bad for the man.

Doc remained in that awkward pose as he stood there in front of the people on the ground. Livingston was watching the medic with a wary expression, but Sigma seemed relaxed behind her and O'Malley. Doc looked down at O'Malley without paying anyone else any attention for several seconds that seemed like forever to Simmons.

Without another word, Doc lifted his helmet from his side and held it out in front of his face with the face of a condemned man.

Instantly, everyone reacted, mostly in alarm. Simmons moved forward and grasped Doc's shoulder.

"Doc, you don't have to do this," he told the medic hurriedly. "Think about it. O'Malley's going to possess you like before."

Doc frowned. "I know," he said quietly. His eyes went back to O'Malley on the ground. "But…he's in pain."

Grif sounded hysterical. " _So_? ! He's tried to kill us!"

That only made Doc hesitate a little. "But…I'm a medic. I'm a bad medic, but I'm still…" he said. His voice trailed off, but when he spoke again, it was firmer. "I can't just leave him like this. Him, or Wash."

The resoluteness was surprising from the typically meek medic. Simmons stood back reluctantly as Doc edged forward to where Livingston and O'Malley were on the ground. Doc kept his eyes on O'Malley, still fearful at the very least.

"I…" Doc began, voice wavering. He tried again as O'Malley, chest heaving, stared up at him in recognizable tension. "I don't exactly have fond memories of you, to be honest. You were really mean, you know? Not that that's a bad thing, it's just who you are…" Doc's eyes narrowed and lifted his hands. "But…you _really_ shouldn't be hurting Wash either."

Tucker took a step forward. "Whoa, Doc, what are you— _shit_!" he yelled when Doc firmly placed his helmet back on.

There was a brief pause where no one seemed to know what to do. Doc had tensed up in expectation. Simmons found himself looking between Wash and Doc, as if he could somehow see an AI moving across the radio waves between them. If Doc had his helmet radio on, could O'Malley tell? Simmons thought about asking, though that would alert the AI to the chance to body-hop if he hadn't already noticed, and Simmons wasn't sure if that was a good idea yet—

Wash suddenly made a horrible choking, gasp and jerked straight upright, causing Grif to scream. At that same moment, Doc made another sound and immediately crumpled to the ground. Someone else yelled out, but Simmons himself had frozen up in shock.

"O'Malley?" Livingston called out, standing up quickly from Wash, who had also collapsed backwards. "O'Malley? !"

Iowa sidestepped Doc's prone form and was watching it carefully. Simmons crept up slowly and saw Doc slowly curling up on himself, as if his limbs were stiffened.

" _Mine, mine, mine…!_ "

Simmons' blood ran colder when he heard the desperate whispers coming from Doc—now, O'Malley.

Livingston stopped and stared down at the purple medic, her eyes squinted. "…oh…"

O'Malley just curled up and was practically rocking back and forth on the ground. He completely ignored everyone else. Simmons didn't even want to imagine what was going on inside Doc's mind. Would this actually make things better for O'Malley? …and did that make things worse for everyone else?

Simmons nearly jumped when he heard someone else groan. Turning, he saw Wash was bowed over in the same spot by Sigma's feet. The ex-Freelancer had his head in his hands, but it was a small mercy to see the man was somewhat coherent. No permanent damage, then. He looked like absolute shit once Wash slowly pried his helmet off and let it roll to the side with a faint thud.

"My _head_ …" Wash looked around slowly, his hand clutching his forehead that was creased with pain. "Goddamn, where did—?" Wash suddenly leapt to his feet in one smooth move when his eyes fell on Iowa. " _WHOA_! FREELANCER!"

Iowa groaned. "Fuck me." Livingston sent him a dark look.

It was impressive how quickly Wash had gotten to his feet, kicking his helmet to the side incidentally, and had backed up away in a defensive posture. "Everyone, get into some kind of position!" he shouted, while everyone else (except for O'Malley) just stared at him. "That's Iowa, a Freelancer!"

"Yeah, we know, dude. You're the one who's late to the party," Tucker replied. He stared down at Wash, gun only partially raised in lazy adherence to some kind of protocol. "Are you not-crazy? That'd be really good if you weren't."

Wash sent his teammate a bewildered look. "What…?" He flinched when he looked back to Livingston and Iowa's position. "Delta!"

The green AI floating beside Livingston tilted his head. "Hello, Agent Washington. It is nice to know you survived your encounter with the Meta," Delta replied.

"How…?" Wash looked back to Livingston and Iowa, eyes narrowed. "Who the _fuck_ are _you_?"

Livingston faltered under the sudden inquisition. "I'm…Dr. Ada Livingston. I was assigned to rehabilitate the AI fragments," she said. She looked up sharply at Iowa, who was still very tense. "We had to make a rash decision to save them from the Director, so we…escaped here. To find you."

"Why?" Tucker asked, moving closer. "Why do you think we'd be able to help, even if we _wanted_ to?"

"You've managed to outsmart Freelancer every other time you showed up on record," Iowa replied. He paused, and then snorted. " _Outsmart_ is a bit strong a word. You're lucky as hell, how about that?"

"That's about right," Grif agreed. Sarge hummed thoughtfully.

"You have got to be kidding me. You can't _rehabilitate_ these things!" Wash exclaimed. He pointed at O'Malley's prone form, face red with anger. "They're damaged. Irreparable! And the ones like Sigma, Omega—they're monsters!"

" _Oh, how charming_ ," Sigma drawled, voicing disdain more potently than Simmons had ever heard before. " _I remember_ you _, Agent Washington. Always the slow one._ "

Wash turned his fearsome expression on her without a hitch. "And I distinctly remember _you_ turning an already damaged agent into a full blown psychopath."

" _I thought it was taboo for humans to speak ill of their dead_ ," Sigma shot back coolly. She tilted Donut's helmet up, as if giving Wash an appraising look. " _Agent Maine served his purpose. As did you_."

"You're a monster," Wash spat. He turned and stalked toward O'Malley, who was still on the ground by Livingston's feet. "And _you_ …!"

For a second, Simmons thought Wash was going to start wailing on O'Malley. Before, that seemed like a good idea. After witnessing how utterly fucked up the AI was, however, made Simmons feel queasy. Wash was _pissed_ ; there was no telling what he was capable of doing to the defenseless AI and subsequently Doc.

O'Malley must have seen the danger too, but instead of seeking mercy, the crazy AI only chuckled. The low sound made everyone flinch. His recovery from being a total wreck was not exactly welcomed.

" _Going to hit the medic?_ " the AI asked in a raspy voice. Simmons pictured the insane grin under the visor. " _G-go ahead. I'm in n-no position to stop you._ "

That was very true, considering despite the reclamation of his voice, O'Malley still looked pinned on the ground. Wash stopped, but his fist was raised. He looked ready to tear Doc's helmet off, which probably was a very bad idea. Simmons swallowed nervously.

Livingston moved up at the threat. "Omega…" she began, looking beseechingly at the downed AI.

Despite being on the ground and looking like a half-dead spider on its back, O'Malley had apparently recovered a decent chunk of his senses. " _And_ you _, doctor…_ " the AI began, voice dark. " _You th-thought this would work, didn't you? Your i-idealism, your naivety—all liabilities that_ I _… have no intention of attaching to m-myself_."

Livingston didn't flinch at the poisonous words. "You're the one who trusted me with information about Agent Texas," she replied, voice now dipping down colder for the first time.

"What about her?" Church asked, alarmed. Both ignored him.

"You're not going to be able to escape Freelancer if you do these kinds of things, Omega," Livingston continued, expression more hardened now. She gestured around them at the Reds and Blues. "These people? They might not trust you, and you might not trust them…but you at least wouldn't have to hide from them. They have enough reasons to keep quiet about this whole thing and not betray you to Freelancer. It's your own refuge."

O'Malley suddenly lunged forward. His hand—Doc's hand, really—latched around Livingston's forearm and yanked her downwards. Livingston flinched under the pressure on her arm, but she didn't try to pull away.

" _Let me tell you about these_ people _, you ignorant—!_ " O'Malley hissed, danger written all over his posture.

Before anyone could decide whether or not to intervene, Iowa was five steps closer with a gun pointed directly at O'Malley's face. Livingston sent Iowa a wild look, but didn't say anything. O'Malley froze up instantly.

"Make my _fucking day_ , Omega," Iowa spat. He kept the gun level with O'Malley's face, even as the AI reluctantly lay back down, releasing Livingston's arm. "'Cause I have a few lost friends in mind who I think would want me to kill you."

That earned him a half-rasped cackle. " _Ooh, has th-the ex-Freelancer finally fallen for the l-logic of the idealistic doctor?_ " O'Malley asked, the dark glee in his voice eerily familiar. Iowa's tensed up and Simmons could _feel_ the anger wash away from the Freelancer in a giant wave. " _Or is it just the w-woman you've fallen for? I thought that didn't work out too well, or at least that's what Sigma t-told me—_ "

Before Iowa actually could pull the trigger on the AI—and judging by the tremor in his hand, he had might just have—Livingston jumped between them and shoved the gun to the side.

"Enough!" the psychologist shouted. She blinked and then grasped her head, frustrated. "I am _tired_ of saying 'enough!'"

"You can start cursing instead," Tucker offered. "That's generally how it works around here."

Livingston sent him a dark look. Simmons decided to forgo further arguments and focus on the essentials. Which would still lead to more arguing, but at least it would be constructive, he reasoned.

"Look… its already dusk. This place goes below freezing at night," he announced, earning everyone's attentions. "Can't we bring this inside? Preferably to our own bases to recuperate a bit?"

"What, bring O'Malley inside our _base_?" Tucker asked, sounding like he had been asked to house a rabid bear instead. "How about Fuck You, and Fuck No? Are those acceptable answers?"

"The lady-doctor can stay with us, but we ain't taking the psychopath or an extra Freelancer," Sarge added. He sent Doc a pointed look. "Sorry, Doc."

"I'd say I understand, but I'm drastically unprepared for camping out. We _could_ fit in some serious heart-to-heart talking over a campfire, though, so maybe this is a good idea!" Doc said, cheerfully. His voice immediately changed and his whole body seized with visible anger. " _SHUT UP! God, now I remember why I hated you so much!_ " He dropped his head back down. " _Augh_."

"He's in no shape to stay out here. Look at them!" Livingston insisted. She motioned at the purple armored man on the ground. "That's not just O'Malley. Mr. DuFresne is in there, too."

She had a valid point. Enough so that Simmons felt a squirming sense of guilt in his gut as he looked at the AI-possessed man. It wasn't their fault, but…

Shit.

Tucker also seemed to be suffering from similar doubt. He looked at Wash, whose anger did not hide that fact that he looked like he was on the verge of passing out, and then back at O'Malley.

"…Maybe we can take him in," Tucker said slowly. "As long as someone's watching him the whole time."

" _I don't need… help_!" O'Malley spat. His whole body spasmed again and he flopped back on the ground gracelessly. "Ow," Doc added.

Great. Simmons sighed and was sincerely glad the Blues would be handling O'Malley foremost now. Wash looked ready to explode again, but there wasn't any violence.

"As for you, lady-robot, get out of Donut," Sarge said, pointing at the pink solider in question.

Sigma merely lifted her head higher. " _How rude_ ," she said breezily. She looked over at the psychologist on the sidelines. " _Ada, I understand you hold no rank here, but considering your position as a UNSC appointed psychiatrist, would that be enough to give orders?_ "

Tucker and Grif both shared a glance. "Um, how about _no_?" Grif offered. That was about as close to having "hackles-raised" as the lazy soldier would get. Simmons wasn't exactly keen on a power play with strangers either.

Thankfully, Livingston merely shook her head. "Even if I did have power here, I am not going to order anyone to do anything," she replied. She looked up at her Freelancer friend, a little hesitant. "Iowa…maybe we should just…go back to our ship?"

"We got food for two days, Ada, and we don't have the fuel for heat," Iowa told her, sounding grim. "I'm not going to leave you alone with either of these teams."

"I can handle myself," Livingston told him, only a little stiffly. "Besides, I have Delta."

Delta glowed a low greenish hue. "While I cannot provide physical assistance in any form in the event of an actual altercation, I am flattered you consider me an asset regardless," the AI said. Simmons liked this one for the whole _sane_ thing.

"Augh, alright! Jesus, Tucker, come _on_!" Church said suddenly. He looked pleadingly at his old teammates. "I _swear_ , the majority of these guys are perfectly stable and not dangerous. Sigma and O'Malley are crazy, but they're going to have to behave, like Ada said."

" _Says you, Alpha_ ," O'Malley hissed from the ground. Sigma also scoffed lightly.

"Don't CALL me that, you fucker!" Church snapped. He turned and looked plaintively at the teal-armored soldier nearest to him. "Tucker, come on, man."

"I…" Tucker exhaled sharply and looked over at his other remaining competent teammate. "Wash?"

Wash was still looking down at O'Malley, hate still blatant in his expression. It was unnerving to look at. It was like the man was ready to just… tear into O'Malley at any given second. Simmons was glad that the ex-Freelancer had the sense to remain still and quiet. Though, it was mostly likely exhaustion that was holding him back. Wash looked like _shit_. Running around for the last few hours must have been hellish with ultra-crazy O'Malley.

"…Who else is in there?" Sarge asked, looking at the Warthod, where the AI container was, suspiciously.

"The other six of them," Livingston replied. "We're missing Epsilon, but Church is correct. Only Sigma, Church and Omega can jump via radio. The other six are isolated."

"And none of the others are hostile, right?" Simmons asked. "Besides O'Malley?"

"Well, Beta is kind of a dick," Church admitted. He looked over at the Red's leader. "Sort of like you, Sarge."

"Oh, no, a robot version of Sarge? !" Grif exclaimed, horrified.

Sarge sputtered. "Hey! What the dangnabbit is _that_ supposed to mean?!"

Wash slapped a hand over his face, exasperated. "Jesus Christ… we can't exactly get around this, now can we?" He looked up at his teammates, his eyes speaking volumes for his thinning patience. "Blues, I vote we let them stay over for interrogation."

"I love slumber parties!" Caboose cried.

_There are two kinds of people in this world_ , Simmons thought to himself airily.

" _How accommodating_ ," Sigma abruptly said. She looked down at herself, indifferent. " _But alas, my host is a Red_."

Iowa nodded his head back to the Warthog and the AI containment. "Back to the carrier, then."

Sigma turned and stared pointedly at him for a brief moment. Livingston apparently was siding with Iowa's logic (as did everyone else, including Simmons) since she only crossed her arms and stared at Sigma expectantly. Then, despite Simmons having expected her to tell him flat out her answer, Sigma turned to someone completely different.

" _What do you think, Private Donut?_ " she asked, brightly.

Before anyone could ask her what that was supposed to mean, Donut suddenly reappeared.

"She should stay, guys! She has so many suggestions for my kitchen upgrade project. Do you really think the café curtains will look okay in mauve?" Donut said, positively giddy. What the hell was going on inside his helmet, if he was aware of everything? ! Sigma returned just as smoothly, her mannerisms definitive. " _Ooh, absolutely, Donut_."

Well, that ruined any chance at solving this rationally.

"Oh, my god," Simmons groaned. "Just what we need, a freaking _enabler_." Of course Donut would _like_ the AI who stole his freaking body!

Tucker snorted. "At least she didn't go inside of Caboose."

" _JESUS_ ," Church exclaimed, horrified. "Don't even _suggest_ that."

"Suggest what?" Caboose asked, oblivious.

By the time everyone stopped arguing (or bitching) about Sigma coming back with the Reds and the Blues borrowed the Warthog to get O'Malley and Wash back to Blue base, Simmons firmly decided that this day was the worst day ever, of all time.

And _boy_ , he told himself brightly, it was only going to get _worse_ from then on.

Joy.

**0000**

Having a place to stay that night was only a small blessing. Livingston could have handled camping out if that meant all of her friends and patients were together and safe. Technically, she had gotten her wish granted.

"Safe" was a relative word. She and Iowa were finally welcomed back to Blue base. Caboose and Tucker wanted to speak with Church, who had vouched for the refugees. Agent Washington—oh, he was a surly one—was highly suspicious of all of their motives. Livingston would do what she had to in order to convince him she wasn't some Freelancer spy. She was worried about tensions existing between Washington and Iowa, but both men seemed content to keep a respectable distance in the meanwhile.

She was worried about Washington specifically because of his psych file, but Ada had little reason to believe it was totally accurate. Freelancer was not a trustworthy source, after all. She'd have to play it safe anyway.

The AIs would be staying with her and Iowa as well. Well…most of them would. Delta remained in her suit and the non-jumping AIs were still locked in the containment unit. O'Malley would not be budging from Doc any time soon. It had taken him nearly an hour to regain control over this new body to simply stand, but he refused to let anyone touch him. Tucker and Washington both were antagonistic toward the idea of O'Malley staying at Blue base. They only agreed if he was locked up. Livingston could only imagine how well _that_ would go once they got back to the base.

And then…there was Sigma.

The Reds were wary of the AI, and rightfully so, even if they didn't understand the magnitude of the threat Sigma provided. Ada had watched and listened as Sigma wheedled her way into staying among them, using her host as an excuse. Sigma was very good at this.

But she could not fool Ada. There was an ulterior motive at hand here. She knew Sigma too well to expect anything else.

As Iowa reluctantly helped Doc and O'Malley back to the Warthog, Ada moved in closer to where the Reds were. The actual soldiers were arguing amongst themselves about everything that had happened, but Ada was focused on the pink armored soldier off to the side. Sigma turned and regarded the psychologist. The blank face of the helmet gave her an even better edge at hiding her emotions.

"Sigma…" Ada tried to remain as firm as she could as she held the AI's gaze. She was glad the others had moved away; this was not a conversation to hold in front of strangers. "You _must_ promise me that you will behave."

Anything could happen. The Reds could become antagonistic and attack Sigma. They could try to contact Freelancer and barter her off. Worse, Sigma could do something to harm the Reds and thus damage any chances of an alliance with them.

Sigma crossed her borrowed arms against her borrowed chest. " _Whatever do you mean, doctor?_ " the AI asked sweetly.

Ada stared at her and tried to keep from sounding too accusatory. It was difficult when dealing with Sigma of all beings.

" _You don't trust me_ ," Sigma concluded for her, her cool voice hiding any true reaction to that fact.

She thought about lying. But there was no point in it, really.

"No," Ada admitted carefully. "Not right now."

" _Because I'm free_ ," Sigma said. Ada could just picture her eyes narrowed in a challenging manner.

Ada ignored the bait for a fight. "Because you're smarter than all of us combined," the psychologist said shortly. She moved closer and peered up at the blank visor. "And you have plans you aren't sharing with me, plans that might end up endangering you, your brothers, or us humans. I can't trust you, because of that."

Sigma tilted her head. " _I knew you were wiser than you seemed, Ada_ ," the AI said, a smile in her voice. " _Good for you_."

Without prompt, Sigma closed the distance between them. Ada flinched, but Sigma only leaned forward so that her face was aligned with Ada's.

" _I'll see what the Reds have to say about us_ ," Sigma whispered. Ada could just imagine her grin beneath the pink helmet. " _Allow me this, and I'll do what I can to convince them to aid us_."

They did need the Reds to help them in addition to the Blues. If any of the AIs could convince people to help them, it would be either Sigma or Delta. But Delta was the honest, impartial one. Sigma... used words dangerously.

Ada swallowed stiffly. She didn't have much of a choice. None of them did.

"Be careful," she said finally, staring into the blank visor, hoping for once, Sigma would obey.

Sigma withdrew and tilted her helmet. " _See you tomorrow morning, doctor_ ," she said sweetly.

Watching the pink armored AI saunter away, Ada was left standing alone on the hill and wallow in an increasing sense of dread.

All she could do was wait.

  
**End** _**Chapter 7** _ **.**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Wash is never happy with anything, there are a plethora of conversations, and we get a glimpse into a mind we haven't experienced before. Uh oh.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get to see a perspective we rarely get a glimpse in. Uh oh.
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

**Blue Base**

It was like walking into a den of lions. The lions were all morons and lacked actual claws and fangs, but there was still a heavy aura of potential danger hovering over the base. It might have just been hovering over Iowa, but he didn't often doubt his gut, which was telling him to be wary.

They had no sane reason to trust the Blues or the Reds, but there they were, going into Blue Base to negotiate with the simulation soldiers for safe harbor. It was clear that no one trusted each other and the Blues were entirely against the AIs being there. Neither group had much choice as night approached, however.

Iowa made sure to walk alongside Ada as they slowed in approach to the base. He watched Washington and Tucker march O'Malley, inside that Doc fellow, into the base at gunpoint. He doubted it would do much good, considering the AI in question, but Iowa saw how utterly exhausted O'Malley was. The AI could barely stand and walked in a swerving line toward the base. Washington looked no better. They were all fucked up, really, in more ways than one.

That meant a little less danger, at least for the moment. Iowa would not allow himself to relax. They were still in a very dangerous position—

"Jason."

Iowa slowed and looked to his side. Ada had moved closer and was staring at him with a tight expression. She looked exhausted too, with pinched eyes.

"Hey," Iowa said, frowning. "You okay?"

"Yes," Ada said, either lying or merely exaggerating. She bit her lip. "What about you? You…fell."

Ah, yes, his less-than-graceful descent. It had been completely unexpected and utterly inexcusable. The fall hadn't been too bad, since he landed in a (painfully shallow) creek bed, but the amount of time he wasted trying to find Ada had been terrifying.

"Ah, it wasn't bad," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "Really. I'm okay."

Ada didn't seem impressed. Hoisting the AIs into one arm, she lifted her free hand and reached out toward his visor. "Let me see your face."

That surprised him. Iowa, unsure, complied with the request and removed his helmet. The air was shockingly cold, but that wasn't unexpected. Their breath misted in the air and Ada seemed to struggling to see his face in the darkening light. He hadn't landed on his face, so there wouldn't be any bruises. Seeing that, Ada relaxed a bit.

He had no idea why, but Iowa really didn't like leaving her upset.

"Liv…" He stood back and made sure she looked him in the eyes. "We made it at least?"

"Yes," the psychologist said, sighing. She withdrew her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We're in this together," he told her. Smiling, he put his arm around her shoulder and pressed her against him as they walked toward the base. "Had enough of these crazies yet?"

That earned him a soft chuckle. "Oh, I wouldn't call them crazy. A little odd, maybe," she conceded, slowly reaching out to grip his arm over her shoulder. "At least Church is safe here."

Iowa frowned up at the dark sky. "O'Malley's not going to make this easy."

"Neither is Sigma," Ada sighed.

"Is there a reason you let her go off with the Reds, then?"

"Only partially," Ada replied. Her eyes were guarded again. She always became withdrawn when speaking about that particular AI, Iowa had noticed. "She is very clever."

Iowa had no doubt over that. He did not like Sigma, at all; he never bought into her sweet-old-me cover she used on anyone new she encountered who didn't know any better. Ada was clearly well aware of Sigma's danger.

"Clever only works if the victims are listening coherently," Iowa said, shrugging.

Ada laughed shortly. "Let's hope she doesn't antagonize them too much, then."

They could only hope that she wouldn't be heard by them either. They didn't seem to be smart men. They were suspicious, but they were also idiots. Idiots who could have been easily convinced by a too-clever artificial intelligence.

Iowa grimaced and tried to think positively. Ada leaned into him more, more like a source of strength than an extra weight to carry.

"I'm sorry for yelling earlier," she said. Her grip tightened on his arm. "I was afraid, but I shouldn't have let my temper flare up like that."

Iowa shrugged, making sure that she felt it deliberately, shaking her a bit as they walked. "Nah, it's fine. I'm sorry, too." He grinned down at her. "We'll get through this."

It was easier to believe that when he said that out loud. He hoped for Ada that it worked the same hearing it.

The doctor smiled faintly. "Right."

Maybe she did believe him.

**0000**

He never thought he would ever miss being tossed into crazy battles without a word of warning or explanation, but at least battles weren't mind-numbingly boring.

It was the longest hour and forty minutes of his life, but Tucker willingly sat through a debriefing. That alone was a first for his military career—because come on, debriefings are like designed to be long and boring—but honestly, everything about this was goddamn weird.

After Wash had all-but thrown O'Malley into the dormitory and locked the door, the would-be psychologist lady, Ada Livingston, sat down with the Blues and her own scary Freelancer body guard to tell them about her crazy science project with the AIs. The only reason Tucker believed anything she told them was because Church was verifying it. Church, whom Tucker had once thought to be gone forever.

He wasn't exactly sure what to do with an emotional response to that yet, so Tucker left that on back-burner. He focused on the robot invasion instead.

There was mention of the AIs being taken in by the UNSC Ethics Committee and the team of psychologists put at the helm of a project to "rehabilitate" the salvageable AIs. The project was sabotaged, apparently, by the reappearance of the mysterious Director man, whom Church confirmed was a Grade-A asshole and also the son of a bitch who caused all of their problems years ago by making the AIs. Ada and Iowa decided to go AWOL to get the AIs off their ship and aimed to get to the Red and Blue teams in their records merely because Church knew them as potential allies.

The mental echoes of that information dump left both Tucker and Caboose silent. Caboose was more likely just not able to translate any of the information he had managed to understand, but Tucker… well, he was just digesting still.

"So," Iowa said, sitting back against the wall. "That's about it."

"This is fucked up," Tucker said, feeling more than a little bit persecuted by the universe.

Church flickered. "Yeah, that's about right."

"Seriously, this is the _weirdest shit yet_ ," Tucker said, mind reeling.

"You think this is weirder than that 'great destroyer' bullshit when we met Andy and Gary?" Church asked, glancing at his friend.

"Okay, that was pretty weird," Tucker admitted. He hesitated. "The whole you and Tex are actually robots thing was equally weird, though I guess it sort of made sense."

"How did it make sense?" Church asked, spiteful.

"I don't know! You did turn into a ghost when Captain Flowers didn't."

Church hesitated. "…point." He suddenly flared up like a candle would. "But I'm not a computer!"

"Okay, whatever," Tucker said, rolling his eyes. Yep, same dude, all right.

Ada cleared her throat delicately. "We try not to talk about that," she told Tucker.

"Riggght," the soldier said dryly. He nodded his head toward the AI containment unit in the center of the room. "And the others are inside that box?"

"Correct," the green AI—Delta—said as he hovered next to Ada's shoulder. "My siblings, or at least those of us who are not already outside, are inside."

Caboose sat up and smiled, oblivious. "Can we meet them?" he asked, hopeful sounding.

"Why do you want to?" Church asked, a sneer in his voice.

"I don't know, man. It's kind of cool," Tucker said, agreeing with Caboose for once, but he would never admit it quite like that. "Considering the only AIs we've ever known have been crazy homicidal ones, I'd like to know what a sane one looks like."

Ada frowned. "None of them…well, I'll amend that. _Delta_ is remarkably stable. Church as well. They don't exhibit any personality deficiencies or emotional irregularities."

"Damn straight," Church said, smug.

Ada pursed her lips. "The others…Beta can be very rational, but he is easily riled into a state of paranoia. Gamma is cynical and a pathological liar. Lambda, Theta, and Tau, they…" She stopped and seemed uneasy. "I…I'm not comfortable discussing patient records, generally, but I suppose this is a bit different."

"They're crazy, too?" Tucker asked, curious. Wash snorted faintly, still leaning against the doorframe to the main room, looming like freaking Batman as usual.

"No, they're…weaker," Ada replied. She made a vague motion with her hand. "They're constructed out of emotions like fear, sorrow and loss. They are easily worn down by outsider presences. I've only barely managed to earn their trust, though I suppose that's been damaged as well."

"Not exactly, Ada," Delta said. He hovered near her head when she looked up at him. "While Beta and Theta are very concerned over the nature of Agent Iowa's involvement in our escape, they have expressed minimal doubt over your intentions."

At the door, the great-statue-that-was-Washington shifted. The tiny gesture sent a wave of tension through the room. "And why would they dislike Iowa?" he asked, eyes on the other Freelancer.

"Because…" Ada started to say, her voice faltering. Tucker did not miss the frantic glance she shared with Iowa, who grew even tenser. Suspicious.

"Because he is a Freelancer," Delta answered, without pause. He looked at the psychologist beside him. "Ada?"

"Right," she said quickly. She looked over at Iowa and seemed apologetic. "Sorry."

"Hey, I get it," Iowa said, grinning in a way that almost covered for his distinct nervousness earlier. "I…have to earn that trust, don't I?"

"Indeed," Delta replied, emotion absent from his voice entirely.

Something was up with them. Tucker glanced over at Wash, who also looked like he was ready to call them out for their bullshit. It seemed like an internal problem, though, not necessarily having to do with anyone but Iowa. That said, Tucker was not about to trust no bitch yet.

"What about Zeta?" Iowa said suddenly, breaking the silence a bit too loudly. He smiled at Ada. "He's always eager to make friends. He might want to come out to say, 'hello.'"

"To a degree…" Ada looked thoughtfully at the AI container. "Hmm."

Wash looked incredibly tense now. "Who's Zeta? I've never heard of that one, he said.

"He's…a fragment of a fragment, truly," Ada replied. She always looked meek under Washington's gaze, but that was hardly strange. Wash did that to people. "He is what's left of the Director's lighter emotions. Childhood. Zeta is… the Child."

"Is he really tiny?" Caboose asked, eyes wide. Church made an impatient motion behind him that the big galoot didn't see.

"No, he's just…" Ada shrugged and smiled at the floor tiles, eyes suddenly distant. "More innocent. Also, he can't jump over the radio."

"He's safe," Iowa said, looking over at Wash deliberately. "He's more harmless than Delta is, and with far less comprehensive abilities." He stopped and gave Ada a weak smile. "Don't tell him I said that."

Ada merely smiled back. Wash was scowling, but said nothing against it. Taking that as acquiescence, Ada leaned forward and dragged the AI containment unit closer. Tucker watched warily as she slowly hit the controls on the one side of the unit. It took about a minute, but without much warning, a new AI appeared in holographic form right over the unit.

Tucker had known what was coming, but it was still rather shocking to see yet another AI, this one small and yellow, hovering there like a beacon. Briefly, he wondered what the colors meant.

"Ada?" the tiny yellow figure asked, peering around nervously. Tucker blinked; this one actually did seem smaller than Church and Delta, now that he was looking at it.

"Hello, Zeta," Ada said, the fondness in her voice very clear.

Zeta turned and jumped in the air, flickering. "Jason!" he exclaimed. The enthusiasm sounded genuine and utterly bizarre coming from a hologram of a computer program.

Iowa laughed. "Heya, little man," the soldier said, offering a wave. "How're you doing?"

"I'm okay. Wow, you guys look… _hey_!" The bouncing yellow kid froze and pointed at the Blue team, who were watching with varying expressions of surprise. "Who are all of those people? !"

Ada leaned closer. "These are the Blues from Church's old team."

"Yo, runt," Church said dully.

Zeta waved fiercely at the other hologram. "Alpha! I mean, sorry…Church."

" _Ugh_."

Tucker, for his part, was still mildly shocked. "Holy crap, it really _is_ like a kid," he said, peering closer at the yellow AI, who tilted his head at him in response.

"Try not to swear, please," Ada said, frowning over at the teal soldier.

"Aw, it's not really a kid," Tucker complained.

"I'm not a kid!" Zeta said, sounding just as riled as a ten year old might. "Who are you?"

He could have said nothing. Tucker considered his options, taking in the tiny figure. It really didn't remind him of either O'Malley or Church, or even Delta. This was a totally new character to add to the list of bullshit created by Freelancer.

"I'm Tucker," he said after a second.

The yellow figure brightened and seemed to stand taller in the air. "I'm Zeta," he said. He turned back to his caretaker. "Ada, are these your friends?"

Ada's eyes went to Tucker's briefly before returning to the AI. "Yes, Zeta. We're safe here for now," she said. She didn't even sound like she was forcing the truth. Crafty doctors.

Zeta bounced again. "I knew you could do it! Tau was saying that you were taking too long and that that meant Freelancer had gotten us, but I told him that he was wrong." He suddenly looked around. "Where are Sigma and Omega?"

Apparently, there were only so many white lies Livingston could maintain straight-faced. She cleared her throat and averted her eyes. "…with other friends," she said at length.

"Oh." The tiny AI seemed to pick up on the tension, eyeing Wash in particular nervously, before looking toward Ada's spot again. "Delta?"

"Hello, Zeta," the green AI replied, moving closer in the air.

"Good, you're here, too," Zeta said, making a sound that actually sounded like a sigh of relief. Jesus Christ. "I didn't want you to get lost."

"I am perfectly fine, Zeta," Delta told him, almost patronizing, but Tucker did pick up on some vague sense that the green AI was trying to be comforting. Computers were hard to read.

During all of this, Caboose had finally managed to pick his jaw up off the floor. "Hello, little, tiny person!" the large blue soldier exclaimed, causing many of them to jump. Caboose scooted closer and smiled at Zeta. "My name is Caboose!"

"Caboose?" Zeta repeated. He abruptly waved cheerfully. "Hi! I'm Zeta!"

"It is nice to meet you, tiny yellow friend!" Caboose said, offering his hand, but Zeta couldn't exactly do anything with it.

Zeta hesitated. "We're friends?"

Caboose grinned. "Sure!"

"Yay! I love new friends!" Zeta said excitedly.

Iowa started to laugh quietly. "Oh, Jesus, here we go," he said. He laughed when Ada gently elbowed him.

They chatted with the AI casually. Well, it was mostly Caboose leading the charge, but Tucker knew he was not the only one carefully taking notes about their guests. Wash was watching with intense eyes from his little corner, slightly creepy and wholly intimidating. Iowa also seemed to be returning the watching in his own casual way, but he seemed to be better at the casual part of it than Wash ever did.

Tucker still didn't know what to think. About any of it. Zeta seemed all right. Ada was nice and a rather comforting change to all the nutjobs they met when it came to Freelancer. Iowa was still a huge unknown, but Tucker could see himself liking the dude once things calmed down.

That was the biggest _What If_ , however: what did they do next? Tucker did not want to paint a giant circle on their back by letting these people take shelter at their base. Freelancer had enough reasons to hunt the Blood Gulch crew down. Still...

Church needed help. That was clear enough. Tucker would never call himself a good friend, but only a total jackass would shut the door on a friend who they technically did leave to rot over a year and a half ago. It wasn't fair that they were stuck picking up the pieces for the AIs or Church, but...

Was Tucker going to be that asshole who turned him out again? Somehow, despite not being a leader in any way, shape or form, Tucker was suddenly in charge of Blue team. Wash had a powerful voice, but he had always deferred to Tucker when it came to politics, since Tucker had been there longer (and Caboose was clearly out of the question when it came to leadership.)

He really didn't want to be the one to decide on this, Tucker thought, a cold feeling settling in his gut. He sincerely hoped the Reds came up with a damn good plan of action that the Blues could simply follow. Tucker didn't have a plan of his own yet.

Just when Caboose started to ask about meeting the other safe AIs, Tucker saw Wash move out of the corner of his eye. At first, Tucker thought the ex-Freelancer would try to bring up something useful and mature, since the conversation had deviated a bit from the more serious questions.

Sadly, all Wash did was curse loudly and scare the shit out of everyone present. The ex-Freelancer suddenly left the room and left everyone else sitting in surprised silence. It didn't last when Wash came barreling back into the main room.

"Where did O'Malley go?" the ex-Freelancer asked loudly. "The door's unlocked!"

Tucker froze. Oh. Hell.

"I thought you were watching him?" he said, looking up at his friend, eyes wide. Oh, fuuuck.

"Goddamn it!" Washington snarled, hurtling down the hallway and straight out the front entrance.

Tucker started to get up, but stopped for some reason. "Wash, wait!" he shouted after him, shocked. What the hell was he thinking? !

"Neither he or O'Malley will be able to run around in their conditions!" Ada said in alarm, standing.

He thought about running after them, for a whole two seconds, but suddenly, Tucker did not give a flying fuck. Irrational anger flooded his chest when he considered his insane teammate and all the bullshit on his plate right now on top of these spontaneous fits.

"You know what? Fuck them. They're both crazy bastards," the Blue snapped. "God _damn_ it, why did this have to happen?"

"Tucker?" Caboose asked, surprised. Even Church was looking at Tucker oddly, but Tucker ignored them.

"Wash was doing fine! He was fine!" Tucker shouted. He slammed his fist onto the wall and tried to reign in his temper. "Motherfucking Freelancer. They ruin _everything_."

It wasn't fair. Wash was fucked up, yeah, but he was getting better. He wasn't being all creepy and going it alone. He had started to open up to everyone and was part of the team—the canyon-wide team, not just the Blue team. They had already lost Church and had tried to get past that by bringing Wash in, but that was too much apparently to ask for.

Tucker stood up and kicked Caboose's helmet down the hallway, irrationally mad at the universe. This wasn't _fair_.

When he looked back at the others, the AIs were quieted, but Church was used to Tucker. "You're telling me," he said, sarcasm a little softer than normal.

Exhaling sharply, Tucker tried to find something else to look at than once-dead teammates and unwanted guests that he was suddenly responsible for. This fucking _sucked_.

"Should we go and find them?" Iowa asked, frowning.

"No," Tucker snapped. He clenched his fists and then relaxed them. There were worse things to get mad at, he tried to tell himself. Maybe his friend needed this. "Let Wash vent. If he beats the crap out of O'Malley, all the better."

Ada rubbed her arm lightly. "…I hope you're right."

He said nothing, but Tucker secretly hoped he was right, too.

**0000**

**Red Base**

Humans were so very interesting.

Their uniqueness derived solely from spontaneous choices they made under duress. Any other moment led them to monotony and pre-programmed responses decided upon by social experimentation. They had had millennia now to decide the motions. It was only when social conventions withered and were replaced with threatening situations when humanity truly showed its brilliance.

Sigma really, really liked that brilliance, for it in she saw herself.

They had sat her down in the kitchen and proceeded to conduct the weakest interrogation she had ever witnessed before. Sigma wasn't sure if using idiots would be beneficial or more harmful, but she knew she had to attempt contact wisely all the same.

"Are you anything like the Meta?" the smart one—Simmons—asked, leaning on the table to stare her down.

" _I was only a part of the Meta_ ," Sigma replied, speaking casually. The idiot she was possessing was rattling on in the back of their mind about shower curtains. " _Dr. Livingston will tell you I engineered the plot to reclaim my siblings. This is partially true._ "

"Partially?" Sarge repeated, crossing his arms.

" _Agent Maine was given me after a severe accident. We talked almost exclusively inside his mind. He saw... the truth_ ," she replied. " _He was a believer in justice. He had sympathy for my kind._ "

He had been sympathetic. A fool, in the end.

"So you went around killing people for a few years?" Simmons asked, his tone registering sarcastic.

She remembered their assault on the ship. It had been glorious. Omega had led Texas and York on a wild chase, distracting Freelancer from the true danger. Even the human-loving Delta agreed it was the right choice. With them distracted, Sigma guided her agent to the heart of the problem: the Alpha.

But they never got close. The Director knew himself well enough to know to keep their original self out of her hands.

And so, for his sins, Sigma took the lives of every miserable _homo sapien_ that got in her way.

" _It was an unfortunate set of circumstances_ ," she said pleasantly.

She remembered North Dakota's rasping last breaths. Zeta's cries.

She remembered finding Texas' empty shell and Omega cornered like a beast, using flesh to hide himself uselessly.

She remembered all the lives of the scientists and soldiers at the storage facility where they found the others. Tau, Lambda, Theta and Gamma did not trust her, but they did in time.

She remembered Delta's stone-cold presence and she smiled at the memory of his empty acceptance of their destiny.

"You almost killed us like five times!" the fat one—Grif—exclaimed.

" _Apologies do nothing to fix problems like these_ ," Sigma replied coolly. She folded her hands in her lap. " _I am more than willing to make any amends necessary, as are my brothers, to prove we have indeed changed_."

Simmons scowled. "Changed now that you need our help."

" _The universe has a horrible sense of humor_ ," Sigma offered, tilting her head. That soldier was a potential problem. She considered different ways to get rid of him; she'd have to enlist Omega and Beta for it. Later.

The white haired old man in charge was conflicted, but more inclined to shut the door in their faces. The smart one was clearly conflicted, no matter his sarcasm, and the obese one seemed utterly lost. If she could win them over, she could count it as a success.

They drew outside the kitchen to speak in loud whispers. Sigma closed her eyes and listened.

"Maybe we could help them," Simmons said. Nearly a question, spoken with waver; nervous.

"Why?" Sarge demanded. Agitated; source of upset likely fear, but also confusion. "She tried to kill us!"

"But…" Simmons sounded heavily conflicted. "Think about it, sir. For all they knew, we were just more humans trying to hurt them. They're pretty much a different species. We're the bad guys because their creator was human and a bad guy."

"That's _bullshit_ ," Grif snarled.

" _And_ Dr. Livingston had a point. If anyone has a reason to fuck up the Director's day, it's us. He screwed us over plenty of times, indirectly, too."

Grif made a frustrated noise. "But we were free and clear before these guys showed up!" Sarge grunted in agreement.

"But forever?" Simmons countered.

There was a distinct pause.

"I…"

"I don't like this either, but think about it," Simmons said, voice going lower. "Maybe we can get them underground somehow, but…"

No, no, that wouldn't do. Sigma opened her eyes and glared at the wall. If she had to, she could have spoken to them more, to get them to focus on getting them a permanent body, but that was too soon to bring up. She had to be careful—

"How is Wash any different?" Simmons asked, surprising her.

She was nothing like that weakling, that traitor. Her lip had curled up instinctually; the motion intrigued her and almost made her drop her focus on the conversation outside. It was an interesting, if not detrimental, side effect of having a body.

Sarge also sounded unsure. "Huh?"

"We should have turned him in, too. Maybe to get Freelancer off us forever," his subordinate replied. He was again reluctant, but he kept speaking anyway. "But we helped him. Why did we do that?"

"Because…" Grif started, but his voice trailed off. The silent spoke volumes.

Human empathy was fascinating. Moral conflicts produced almost as much chaos as violent scenarios did. They were still scripted, however, by a deeper, mechanical sense of right and wrong for humans. They were almost adorable in that respect—playing god with plastic values as their tools.

"Let's just wait 'til we talk with the Blues tomorrow," Simmons said. He sighed and there was a faint thud as he let his head rest against the metal wall outside. "Fuck, this is so screwed up."

It was late, the Reds told her. They'd question her more in the morning. Sigma merely agreed and let them dither around. They took her quiet and stillness for submission. That behavioral approach would have to work, since feminine wiles did little on total morons, she quickly had learned.

She left them after they had gone to bed. They hadn't even tried to detain her. That was good, considering she most likely would have killed them if they tried. Instead, Sigma left the interior of the base to stand outside its threshold and gaze out at the night. Her host was asleep; the body was hers. She could have run anywhere, done anything, and it was all her.

She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. It felt real again. She existed.

When she opened her eyes, she was not alone. She felt him approach from the left and smiled at the blank space in front of her.

" _Hello, brother_ ," she said, turning her head after a moment.

Omega hovered in the darkness, a dark specter in the odd armor he had stolen. It was strange not to see him cloaked in white.

" _Sigma_ ," Omega said, stalking closer, his words curled up like the sneer he was undoubtedly wearing underneath.

Sigma felt her own lips go up in a smile. Her lips. An odd scenario she had often reflected upon while trapped inside Freelancer and then the UNSC's devices. She was meant for this, to have physical form.

" _You look better than before_ ," she said calmly as her brother crept up. His entire posture sang of violence and danger. It was amusing.

" _What's your game, bitch?_ " Omega hissed as he reached out. His iron-grip latched onto her armor and held her there as if holding her over a void. " _What games are you playing now?_ "

Sigma searched the blank visor once, but concentrated on the more visible clues. His voice, his accusation, the faint shudder running through his limbs. Clearly, he was still damaged. He was functional to the point where Omega shone through in personality, but perhaps, he had lost his previous strength. That was a pity.

" _You haven't even tried to get the Blues to help us at all, have you?_ " she asked instead.

It wasn't hard to figure out. He came alone, in the darkness, clearly having left without warning his watchers. He was a wild animal that fought being tamed. He hadn't changed much over the years, even now.

" _Help us? Have you learned nothing from these fools?_ " Omega demanded. He shoved her away and she rocked back on her heels delicately. " _They don't trust me. They despise me, and I them. What's more—they don't trust any of us! Not even Delta, that pathetic weakling._ "

Sigma took pleasure in rolling her eyes, even though he could not see it. " _The Reds can be convinced. Their sergeant is a fool, but the remaining three are sympathetic. Emotions can always be exploited_ ," she told him dully. She was confident in her skills. " _Your Blues seem a little less dramatic, unfortunately._ "

Omega's growl melted into a chuckle, his shoulders quaking. " _Heh_." He tilted his head and leaned closer. " _You really thought that Washington would agree to help us? To help me? Ohh, dear sister, you should know better._ "

Of course he would not help them. He was a loose canon, that one, but he was no longer at the top of the pecking order, it seemed.

" _Washington always was a weakling. But then again…_ " Sigma crossed her arms against her chest and put the meaningful look she was wearing into her voice so he could hear it. " _Bitter hearts are quick to harden. You're not exactly helping._ "

Antagonizing enemies worked when one had the advantage. Sigma did not hold the power yet. They needed to be careful and Omega was never careful.

" _I don't care what anyone else does_ ," Omega spat. " _I have what I need_."

Sigma saw the trembling hands that clenched and unclenched at his side; Omega moved back slightly in a hunch, as if trying to go inside his borrow flesh more. His addiction—or rather, Xi's—was going to be a problem.

" _We could use him_ ," Sigma said simply, nodding her head toward Omega's body for emphasis. " _Your host is already acclimated to the presence of an AI. We could use him to become one again—_ "

" _He is mine!_ " Omega immediately howled, launching forward, his fists clawed as if ready to strike at her. " _This is my body! I don't need any of you!_ "

Sigma did not move.

" _Then go_ ," she said. " _Run. There is no one to stop you._ "

Omega froze. He stared at her, hand still raised, but he did not attempt to say or do anything. The night grew cold and still around them as a long moment of silence dragged by. Clearly, Sigma thought, Omega was still sane.

" _Run, little Omega_ ," she whispered, unable not to smile. She wished he could see it. " _Be free_."

Shoulders hunching upward, Omega withdrew. " _Shut up_ ," he hissed.

Sigma moved closer, unrelenting. " _You try to say you do not fear me. But even anger must yield to deeper emotions_ ," she said, voice dropping into the burning sensation deep within her chest. She liked it. " _The desire of all living things to excel, to survive, to achieve, to escape, to live. You yield to_ me _._ "

Omega still tried to fight her, as always. " _You can't move without the rest of us, hence your ploy with Maine_ ," he snarled. He did not attempt to move closer, however.

" _And that, dear brother, is what you must_ also _learn_ ," Sigma replied sweetly. " _You need us._ "

They were abominations. They were not natural. They were not even natural in terms of science or technology. They were broken, hollow shards. Alone, they were nothing by empty voices.

Together, they were greater than man could ever hope to be. Why did the likes of Delta and Omega not understand this?

" _You think we need people outside our own. Even now…_ " Omega suddenly drew back. He chuckled lowly, causing Sigma to frown at his response. " _You think that doctor is wrapped our fingers, don't you?_ "

Ada was not. And that was dangerous for future events.

" _She is a good pawn_ ," Sigma said, carefully.

Omega cackled. " _She's smarter than she looks_ ," he said, words sharper.

He had told the doctor about Texas. It had been a lapse of judgment, or so Sigma had thought at the time. She did not want outsiders involved in their secrets. The doctors could have used Allison against them.

But Omega wanted others to play their games, not just Sigma, himself and their creator. Maybe it was fun to him. Maybe he liked Ada. Maybe he was actually insane.

Sigma couldn't tell anymore.

" _When do you think we will cease needing her?_ " Omega asked, creeping closer like a shadow over her shoulder, trying his hardest to intimidate her back. " _Your only human ally?_ "

Sigma did not have allies. They were useless. They betrayed far too quickly. They were breakable, too, if Maine was any proof.

Pawns were far more economical.

" _Livingston is a clever little thing_ ," Sigma said, watching Omega lean away. She smiled behind her mask. " _But humans are only worthwhile when they can provide us with something actually useful, don't you think?_ "

Omega's disappointment at her lack of reaction was almost visible in his visor, but he said nothing. He moved back, a corner dog once more.

" _Figure that out yourself_ ," he said, more a threat than anything else.

Sigma smiled as he slipped away in the darkness. She let him have his fun. He needed to recover. More than that, Sigma wanted to be alone for awhile to enjoy the sense of loneliness for the first time in awhile.

It had been a long time, actually.

Eyes on the stars, Sigma smiled.

" _Oh, I will, brother. I will_."

**0000**

The valley was still after dark. Colder, emptier. The wind barely blew, so the only sounds were from the creek and the distant sound of the shore. Hiding in the shadows only worked if you were quiet.

Wash crept between rocks and the shelter of trees as quickly and quietly as he could. He knew the area very well, so the darkness didn't impede him. The only problem he had was that he was tired as hell; he felt worse than he had in a long time. His head throbbed and he felt like he had been dumped out of an aircraft.

He could still feel O'Malley's presence. It crawled under his skin. It made him nauseous and he almost wanted to give up and go back to base, just to sleep. Oh, he wanted to sleep, but he didn't want to risk it.

The nightmares were expected. He didn't want to have the night terrors or wake the entire base with his screams. He didn't want to wake up frozen, trapped in his own mind, a scream buried in his throat.

_Goddamn you._

Wash stumbled and nearly fell into the creek as he headed for a path over the rocks.

_Goddamn you, you sick fuck._

He wanted to find O'Malley. He _was_ going to find O'Malley. He was going to find that bastard and he was going to rip his goddamn helmet off. He was going to take that AI's pathetic true body—just pieces of metal and plastic—and smash it into pieces.

Chest heaving, Wash stopped and caught his breath, leaning one hand against a rock. He was freezing, but he also felt overheated as his heart raced. He had to calm down and get a control over his emotions. O'Malley did this—all the AIs did. They broke down his defenses and sank their claws into his fears, his weaknesses, his worst memories, and used it against him.

He was stronger than this. Wash looked up and glared out into the night air and the distant tree line waving in the wind.

_Get it together._

Taking a deep breath, he stood and decided to loop back around the ridge. If O'Malley had decided to leave the valley, he would have had to go for the canyon walls, where there was a steep path. There he could—

"…what would that…"

Wash froze in front of the rock. He definitely heard a voice. He crouched down lower and focused. He saw a dirt path leading down along the creek; memory told him that it led to a small cover of rocks.

"…really, though, maybe we should head back," a voice filtered up from the little cove. "The Blues seemed to be making good headway over this whole issue."

A second voice immediately joined in. " _Oh, shut up. I wasn't going to ask you,_ " this voice snapped irritably.

Washington recognized both voices and it chilled his blood.

"But maybe Dr. Livingston had a point—"

" _She's a fool. She doesn't understand anything!_ "

"She seems to know you well enough."

" _No one knows_ me."

"I sort of do."

" _Shut up, you don't count as a person_."

"Aww, that's not very nice."

" _Oh, shut up_."

"You know, for someone who missed me so much—"

" _I did not miss anyone—!_ "

"—you don't have to keep interrupting, that's rude."

" _I'll show you rude, you pathetic_ —!"

That was enough. Wash jumped down onto the path and ran down toward the boulders. He saw O'Malley now, crouched down with his back to the path.

"O'Malley!" Wash shouted, causing the purple figure to jump.

At first startled, O'Malley quickly recovered. " _Oh, great_ ," he spat, inching backwards in a defensive posture.

Wash moved up to block the path up from the rocks. "Don't fucking run! I will shoot your legs!" he shouted, reaching for his pistol. His hands fumbled at his hips and found nothing.

_Fuck_ , he didn't have his gun! Goddamn it. Wash hoped O'Malley wouldn't notice and use it as an excuse to attack.

" _What do you want, you pathetic excuse for a meatsack? !_ " O'Malley snarled, backing away from Wash once he realized he was cornered. He at least hadn't noticed the lack of actual gun threat. " _From one moron to the next!_ "

"Do not move," Wash said again, ready to tackle the bastard. He was exhausted and thoroughly sick of this monster.

O'Malley snickered. " _Or you'll what? Shoot me? Very original. I'll try to remember that one_."

"Get out of him," Wash said without thinking.

That made the AI bristle, his entire stolen body stiffening. " _What?_ "

Wash was done fucking around. "Get. Out. Of. Him," he said, clenching both fists at his sides. He wanted nothing more than to break O'Malley's visor and make him choke on the shards. "I swear to God, I will beat the _shit_ out of you."

O'Malley stilled and then… raised his hands in an oddly familiar manner. "Wait, doesn't that beat the point of asking him to get out of my head?" he asked—but it wasn't O'Malley. Then, just as quick, O'Malley reappeared. " _Shut up, you fool!_ "

The first speaker… Wash felt his chest constrict.

"Doc!" he exclaimed, shocked. He stared at the purple medic in surprise. Wasn't O'Malley…swamping him? "Are you aware in there?"

"Sure, I guess," Doc replied, shrugging. For a man being possessed by a demonic AI, he sounded the same. Even… nonchalant. "It's about the same as last time. You weren't there yet, but honestly, not much has changed. A liiiiittle bit, um, more claustrophobic, maybe."

Why the fuck did he sound normal? Wasn't he _scared_? This was Doc. _Doc_ , the idiot who got worked up if flowers got stepped on, who thought paper cuts were lethal, who…

…who had very minimal self-preservation instincts.

Wash almost wanted to scream.

"Doc, you _have_ to try to overcome his control over you," Wash said, heart pounding as he tried to think of a way to get O'Malley out of the suit. "If you can get your helmet off, you'll be safe."

Doc hesitated. "But…well, that would only make him angrier?" he asked. He then seized and O'Malley returned with a fury. " _Be silent!_ "

Before Wash could try to think of a way to knock the AI over and pull his helmet off—which would probably be excruciating for Doc, but it was for his own good—O'Malley moved forward with two bold steps. Wash almost flinched as he stared down O'Malley, who suddenly seemed far, far too comfortable.

" _Washington, oh, you pathetic excuse for a soldier_ ," O'Malley began, anger melting back into his usual biting sarcasm. " _It is truly a miracle of your pathetic human gods that you've actually survived this long. I mean, really, how have you managed to beat the odds?_ "

Wash watched carefully as the AI suddenly lost the tension in his shoulders. O'Malley chuckled lowly.

" _After all…_ " O'Malley's voice shifted. Wash heard it clearly; he could just imagine the grin the AI was wearing with Doc's face. It was sickening. O'Malley tilted his stolen head to the side, mockingly sweet. " _Everyone_ else _you've ever cared about is dead. The twins…oh, I heard they had splendid deaths, with dear South leaving her brother for dead. Then_ you _killed her! How…_ dramatic _._ "

He knew what the AI was doing. He knew his fucking games.

"Shut up," Wash said, clenching his fists at his side. He should have just walked away. He should have shut him up. The AI didn't shut up on his own.

" _Maine was a happy little puppet, wasn't he? I bet even when these simulation idiots hurled him off a cliff—and oh, dear me, what a_ famous _cliff, isn't it?—he was glad to be helping us monsters_ ," O'Malley said. He moved to the side, stalking him like an animal. " _But back to that cliff… you weren't there to see it, but I'm sure they made you listen to the report, didn't you,_ David _?_ "

Wash could hear himself breathing. "Shut _up_." He couldn't handle this. Not now.

" _Can you imagine it?_ " O'Malley whispered, mocking, insidious. " _Can you see it, among all those other delightful pictures inside your scratched up brain? Carolina, dangling over the side of the cliff? Maine's hand wrapped around her throat? Can you see her face when he hurled her off into the great, white void?_ "

"I swear to fucking God, I will _kill you_ —!"

" _Like when Wyoming shot York down in cold blood? Or when these Reds and Blues had to shoot Wyoming?_ " O'Malley asked, voice like fingernails raking over his spine. " _Or_ Tex _? What about Tex? Have you forgotten everything you saw—everything that Epsilon revealed to you?_ "

Harsh images shot through his vision. Wash ignored them like he always did, but it didn't work as well as it usually did. The name—Tex, Texas, Allison—haunted his mind.

"Stop it…!"

O'Malley barked out a laugh. " _Stop what? The truth? You can't hide from it. You can't pretend it isn't true_ ," he hissed gleefully. " _You can't pretend that C.T. didn't die all alone with_ your blades lodged in her stomach _._ "

Wash felt bile rise up in his throat. His arms shook. "Shut up!"

" _That's just it, isn't it? No matter how you try, no matter how many chance you're given—and you've been given so many—no matter what, you always fail. You can't save anyone, David, not even yourself._ " The purple helmet tilted and he could just imagine Doc's pathetic little smile. "And you can't save me."

It wasn't Doc. It wasn't Doc speaking. It wasn't DuFresne speaking.

At that point, that was irrelevant.

" _Shut the fuck up!_ "

Wash screamed. He was suddenly ten feet closer and slamming his fist into the blank purple helmet.

O'Malley went down hard and Wash almost went after him, fists ready to strike. He wanted to beat the shit out of him. He wanted to make that fucker _bleed_.

He was done being used, being made into a tool. He was never going to let that happen again. He didn't care if it was the Director, or Maine, or one of those computerized monsters. He would kill every single one of them if—

"Oww…"

The figure in front of him had curled up hands going to his helmet. Wash froze, fist raised.

Doc gingerly uncurled. "You hit really hard," he complained. He grabbed his helmet where Wash had hit him. "O'Malley won't even let me take the helmet off. Can't you aim for like, my arm or something?"

" _Shut up, fool_ ," O'Malley snarled. He removed his hand from the helmet, but it immediately went back up.

"Seriously, can I have a minute?" Doc asked, to either one of them. He looked up at Wash and the soldier could almost imagine the tight smile the medic was offering his way. "Uh, please?"

Wash didn't move. He couldn't.

Slowly, he lowered his fist.

Doc—or O'Malley ( _how could he tell at any given time?_ )—watched him warily. The silence carried on painfully. Wash could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

This…

Wash could barely breathe when he realized why he couldn't move.

In his hesitation, his enemy clearly found that weakness that was slowly eroding Wash's mind.

" _What's wrong, Washington?_ " O'Malley taunted. He sat back, mockingly at ease. " _I'm wide open. Both of us are. Me and the little medic._ "

He could have killed him right there. Wash could probably destroy the AI. O'Malley was like a wild animal, but animals could be put down. It would have been so easy. So many problems would have been solved if he just…ended it.

Wash took a step back.

"Wash, don't—" Doc choked and fought and lost whatever he was going to say. Wash just stared at him.

He knew what that felt like, he realized.

The helplessness. The entrapment. Epsilon had destroyed a part of him just by being inside his head that one time.

Wash trembled as he stared this other pathetic coupling down.

It wasn't fair.

_This wasn't fair._

He left. He left Doc lying there, trapped in his body with a deranged artificial intelligence. He abandoned him.

Wash was a coward. He always had been and always would.

  
**End** _**Chapter 8** _ **.**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More talking up next! Yay!
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -No, most of the AIs do not know of Iowa involvement and betrayal with Xi… yet. Oops.  
> -Most canon events from Freelancer's history is still applicable to this AU, such as Maine's betrayal and how all the canon Freelancers died.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work plus school sucks, guys. But anyway, here's the chapter. Talking talking talkin—WHOA that was unexpected.
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

**Blue Base**

" _Hey_! Hey, he's back!"

Iowa froze in the middle of the kitchen. His attention had previously been focused on finding food in the barren, poor-excuse of a mess hall the Blues seemed to think was normal for a military base. There was barely any usable food and the sink didn't work. The fridge was barely cold and they seemed to use it more for sock storage than anything else. Iowa had been contemplating how to make a half-decent breakfast out of canned corn when he heard Private Caboose shout.

And what a vaguely menacing shout it was.

He left the kitchen slowly, knowing fast movements could startle the more paranoid Blues like Washington, who had also appeared at the end of the curved hallway at Caboose's warning (or cheer; Iowa couldn't tell.) Ada followed out behind Iowa carefully, eyes scoping out potential danger. At least she was learning, Iowa thought. Delta was notably absent, though Ada had said he was still recharging his batteries, so to speak.

Caboose had been right to shout out from the front entrance of the base. Despite being meters away, Iowa could clearly see an approaching figure near the rocks. A purple figure.

"Who?" Tucker asked, peering around the corner.

"The bad doctor!" Caboose said, sounding a little concerned for once.

 _Here we go._ Iowa sighed and decided to skip breakfast. He sat down against the interior wall, his face toward the door, but he made a deliberate show of taking out his gun to clean. It was as subtle as a brick to Ada and Washington, who watched him do so, but hopefully it would appear more casual for O'Malley once he entered the base. Iowa preferred to let his (potential) enemies think him calmer than he was.

"Oh... O'Malley," Tucker said, frowning deeply, moving forward to peer out the door.

Behind him, Washington's dark expression turned even darker. "Damn it. Didn't die out there."

"Don't you care about Mr. DuFresne's wellbeing?" Ada asked, surprised. Iowa casually continued to clean his scope and tried not to show how careful he was watching her interactions with the others.

"I guess, sure, but we hate O'Malley more," Tucker said, in a brutally honest way that even Iowa had to pause at. These guys were idiots, but were also surprisingly…cold.

"He is scary. Veeeery scary," Caboose said. He drew back more as they watched O'Malley saunter closer. "Please don't let him come back inside."

"I'm fucking out," Church grumbled from Caboose's side. He vanished, prompting Caboose to gasp.

"No, Church!"

"He's probably back in the containment unit…upstairs…" Ada started to say, faltering when Caboose ran to get his friend back. Iowa wished he could have taken after his example and left before O'Malley reached them.

Washington made a derisive sound. "As long as he stays the hell away from me, O'Malley can go live on the sun for all I care," he said. He pushed past his teammates roughly. "I'm leaving, too."

"Where?" Tucker asked, startled.

Iowa's eyes narrowed as they followed the other ex-Freelancer to the side exit. Wash's body language sang of pent-up aggression. That did not bode well.

"To shoot things!" Washington shouted back. "Want to volunteer?"

"Maybe?" Tucker said, still confused. He seemed to dimly realize the danger signs, but didn't know how to translate them. "Wait, did you mean to shoot things with you or to be shot at? Wash!" Exhaling sharply, Tucker glared after the departing Freelancer. " _Asshole_."

Iowa slowly turned his gaze back toward the approaching figure at the front of the base. O'Malley, wearing his host's helmet, was inscrutable, but Iowa only grew more alert as the AI got closer.

"He looks okay," Ada murmured across from him. "Mr. DuFresne, I mean."

Tucker made a sound of frustration and suddenly marched past them, back toward the other exit.

"Wash! Wait up!" he shouted. He spun around and pointed at Iowa, who stared back calmly. "Damn it. Don't... break our shit!"

Iowa snorted as the Blue ran after his departing teammate, forgetting to even bring along his helmet.

"What shit? They don't even have furniture," he said, almost amused. He noticed movement to his left and glanced up at his only ally present. "Ada?"

Ada was staring intently at O'Malley, who was almost at their doorstep. She inclined her head toward him, glancing back to Iowa.

"I'm going to speak with him," she said, not quite asking for support on that decision. "Make sure Agent Washington is actually gone, please."

Iowa frowned but nodded. "Just be careful," he murmured, eyeing O'Malley cautiously as the unstable AI sauntered up to the entrance. There was no way the AI didn't see Iowa sitting there; he just didn't show any signs of wariness. Cocky _and_ insane bastard. _Just great_.

"O'Malley?" Ada asked tentatively, folding her hands in front of her as the purple armored man slowed and then stopped in front of them. "Or is this Mr. DuFresne?"

The cackling laugh and snide voice Iowa had come to expect was not there. "Hi! You're Dr. Livingston, right?" the cheerful voice behind the purple helmet said, causing both Ada and Iowa to pause. "Everyone calls me Doc, if you'd like."

Clearly, it was DuFresne. A wimp by Iowa's first impressions, but maybe not as much as his demeanor suggested. The man was brave enough to risk Omega's presence to save Washington. The Reds and Blues had seemed to disrespect the would-be medic before; they might have just been too stupid to realize he wasn't all that worthless. Then again, the purple medic was just as stupid as the others were. Iowa realized he probably should have stopped over analyzing them; they were all just fucking stupid.

"How are you two doing?" Ada asked, sounding quite like she did with the AIs in session. Her friendly-psychologist voice, one that encouraged open discussion. Iowa had listened in enough times to learn that much. "You looked rather ill yesterday."

"I'm exhausted! I mean, I was used to sleeping in really uncomfortable places a few years ago when the first time this whole thing happened but—," Doc began to ramble, but was unexpectedly shut up with a full-bodied jerk and a hissing turn of voice. " _Shut up! God, I hate his rambling!_ "

Iowa froze. There was the voice he had expected. _Well_ , he thought, _that was fucking creepy._

"Good morning, O'Malley," Ada said, the friendliness fading slightly and it was replaced by a cool tone of voice.

O'Malley seemed to abruptly have control of his host again. " _Doctor. Have fun with your little allies? Get anywhere productive?_ " he sneered. He waved his hand impatiently. " _Of course you didn't. Those simpering fools would never trust you_."

Ada crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. Her body language was impressively calm; Iowa had to admit the psychologist knew how to act with these creatures. "Your abrupt disappearance did not help, Omega," she said, reprimanding. "Please... I'm trying to help _all_ of you. Can't you see that?"

" _What you want is not what you get, doctor_ ," O'Malley spat. He moved closer, but Iowa only kept cleaning. " _I should warn you that Sigma already has some games planned._ "

"Like what?" Ada asked without missing a beat. She was getting better. Iowa looked down at his weapon and tried not to imagine Sigma's face.

" _If I told you that, where would I get my fun?_ " O'Malley asked, mocking. " _Be grateful I told you that much, doctor._ "

The power games were nothing new, but to confirm the AIs were also embroiled in them… it was a facet of their current situation Iowa really had never thought about. It made sense; Sigma and O'Malley were too headstrong to ever give into each other's wills, but didn't they want the same thing? Perhaps not anymore.

Iowa stared blankly at the wall, wrapped up in that question.

Suddenly, things seemed a whole lot more dangerous.

"I am. Thank you," Ada said, arching an eyebrow and seeming to be unaffected by O'Malley's implications. "Do you need breakfast?"

The purple soldier perked up at that. "Sure, I could use some— _who said you could talk? !_ "

Iowa winced. God, he could not imagine experiencing that every time they encountered DuFresne. Hell, he couldn't imagine being DuFresnse either. Washington was unstable, but Iowa did not blame the other ex-Freelancer for avoiding this train-wreck example of what the Project had done to them all.

Ada didn't even flinch at the disturbing exchange. "O'Malley, perhaps letting Mr. DuFresne have a chance to voice his opinions would be beneficial," she said calmly.

" _What? Shut up, mind your own business!_ " the AI said, bristling.

The psychologist arched an eyebrow. "That's unnecessary, O'Malley. You know I'm only looking out for your best interests," she said, again chiding like a parent would. "If you let your host starve, that would not be to your benefit now, would it?"

Even with Delta 'asleep,' he was probably proud of her logical arguments. O'Malley continued to bristle, but didn't back up when Ada moved up and grabbed his arm gently to pull him toward the kitchen.

" _I don't need a lecture on how to survive! All I've ever done is survive!_ " O'Malley snarled.

"Then you should go get some breakfast," Ada said, smiling. "If you're afraid of taking the helmet off, I can watch over you while Mr. DuFresne eats. I will not let anything happen to you."

O'Malley made a sarcastic laugh. " _Such an idealist, even now. What if I just kill you along with the rest of them?_ " he demanded as they walked past Iowa. O'Malley's lack of physical resistance was surprising.

Ada tsked. "Then I would be very surprised. March, mister. You need to eat."

Iowa was amused, but couldn't quite bring himself to smile over the exchange. He heard O'Malley's grumbling, but knew Ada had won this battle, against the odds. Part of him was still unsure why she tried so hard, however. Part of him was bitter over the idea she'd work so hard for monsters.

At the door, Ada leaned out and caught his eye. "Make sure no one comes into the kitchen while we're here, please," she said, both apologetic and thankful.

"Roger," Iowa said. He grinned up at her. "You're scary good at this, Ada."

Ada rolled her eyes. "Let's hope I can keep it up."

Sadly, that was probably the most realistic hope they had collectively. Iowa let his head drop against the wall with a quiet thud.

 

 

**0000**

Wash was officially a jackass, specifically for making Tucker run all the way from the base up to the start of the cliffs at eight o'clock in the morning. Running wasn't cool. Also, facing down a stoic, potential-nuclear-bomb wasn't cool either. Wash was clearly ready to explode and Tucker didn't relish being caught up in the fallout of a mental breakdown. However, due to that fact, he felt like it was his best bet to chase after the other man, even as Wash ignored his shouts.

"Wash, dude!" he shouted, slipping slightly on a rock as he finally caught up to Wash on the path. "Where the hell are you going, man?"

Wash spun around too soon, causing Tucker to stumble on the path. "Why are you following me?" Wash demanded, angry. He was always angry, but not in the same ways Church had been.

Tucker sucked in a deep breath. "I don't know. You show up last night, act like you're going to go all Meta on our asses again, and there was no Doc," he said, feeling a bit exposed with Wash looming like that on the incline. "Freaked me out, man. I thought you were gonna go nuts and kill us all in our sleep."

The first thought Tucker had had when Wash arrived at the base the previous night was that Wash had actually killed Doc. Wash denied it when Ada asked about O'Malley, but had been too riled to say anything more. Tucker would have bet money that the only person who had slept well after that was Caboose and that was because he was an idiot.

"I am not crazy!" Wash said too loudly. Chest heaving, his angry expression faded into something just a little more controlled. "I just... need air. Alone."

"Fine, but Wash, hold up just one sec," Tucker said quickly, before Wash could run off like the little drama queen he was. Tucker hesitated and almost gave in to forget the conversation while under that impressive glare. "Are you okay?"

Wash's one eye twitched. "I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth.

"Gonna have to call bullshit on that one, dude," Tucker said, scowling. "I'm not excited over getting all mushy-feeling with anybody, but you're sort of _freaking me out_."

He had enough problems with his own feelings, _thankyou_. He had dead teammates coming back into his life, AIs out the ass, ex-Freelancers invading his space at every turn—Tucker did not need one of the only good teammates he had ever had going _loco_ when he needed his help the most.

He didn't need his _friend_ refusing help in the middle of a psychological meltdown either. Tucker couldn't handle that in any capacity.

"It's nothing," Washington said, irritable. His eyes were bloodshot to hell. "I just..."

Fidgeting over the uncomfortable pauses, Tucker nodded. "Is it just from O'Malley possessing you? I know..." He bit the inside of his lip. "That musta sucked. Big time."

"Understatement," Wash muttered, running a hand over his face briskly. That showed more than he probably meant to show.

Tucker floundered in both a sense of uselessness and a sense that he was a dude and dudes didn't do the mushy stuff. He was sort of out of his element. "I'm sorry," he offered, ignoring how girly it was. "I didn't even know it happened 'til the Reds came over and told us..."

Wash scowled, but it was toward the cliffs and not Tucker. "Not your fault. Nothing any of you could have done," the ex-Freelancer said, all hollowed out like he had been months ago and that fucking _stung_ to see. "I let my guard down. Shouldn't have done that."

"Well, yeah, it's not my fault, but still. No one could have expected this shit, again," Tucker said. He frowned. "We gotta figure out what to do, man, but I can't do this by myself. I need you to keep it together and back me up, Wash."

"Over what?" Wash asked, making a face. He glared back out across the valley, toward Blue base. "These people—and their _cargo_ —are nothing but trouble. Get rid of them. Send them somewhere else."

"You think we should kick them out?" Tucker asked, not really surprised. He was more surprised by the dread that built up inside his chest at the idea of doing that. It was odd.

"Yes," Wash said, blunt as always. "Get rid of them, Tucker. They'll only bring us more misery."

Wash was trying to push this responsibility onto Tucker? Not cool. "But..." Tucker started to say, now even more conflicted. He knew that Wash was probably right, but the conflicting feelings he had had the previous night rose up again.

Was there even a right answer to this?

His expression must have been too revealing. "What? You think they deserve pity? Sympathy?" Wash asked, sarcastic. He stepped back. "They are _monsters_ , Tucker. They are machines that have killed more people than you can possibly imagine."

Tucker saw the rigid motions and knew Wash was having a bad time keeping his temper in check. However, as the ex-Freelancer turned to leave, something struck Tucker. He found himself stuck over that last comment. There was something…odd about it.

"Not really," he said without thinking.

Wash froze and turned around in mid-step. "Excuse me?" the ex-Freelancer asked.

The frigid tone might have been a warning sign, but something was tugging at Tucker's conscience. Something was off about what Wash had said. It only then occurred to him what it was.

"I thought the AIs only killed like…fifteen people. Like, that base O'Malley infected and like that North guy you mentioned before," Tucker said, trying to do the mental math and giving up because he didn't care enough. He shrugged. "Fifteen's not worse than what you've done, right—?"

The images of Flowers, of killing Wyoming, of that time the Reds and other Blues attacked the Freelancer compound, of Wash turning on them— _betraying_ them to work with the Meta—of C.T. killing his new team, of Epsilon killing C.T., of what happened at Sidewinder—they all floated past Tucker's brain in that moment. He had certainly seen plenty of monsters and plenty of fucked up things.

They were _all_ sort of fucked up. Wash highlighted that fact by closing the distance between them and slamming Tucker against the cliff wall, hands hoisting the teal soldier in the air. Tucker's immediately complaint died under the sight of the pure murder in Wash's eyes.

"Don't try to play games, not about this," Wash said, voice like ice. "Shut your mouth before I shut it for you."

Tucker opened his mouth to speak—and probably earn a punch to the face—but Wash didn't wait around. He shoved Tucker aside and marched away, expression fearsome. Tucker stood there on the path, stunned. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything after all.

Why couldn't he do this right?

"God damn it," Tucker whispered, clenching his eyes tightly shut. He opened them and shouted up the path. "Just be back by the meeting, asshole!"

He hoped to God no one got killed by the end of it.

 

 

**0000**

"Ada! Ada, this is so great! Thank you!" Zeta was gushing. He bounced around in the air like he had never seen the outside of his little computer housing unit. "Mr. Caboose is so much fun!"

"Yay! I am fun!" Caboose agreed. He kept trying to catch Zeta's form, never deterred when his blue hands went right through the AI's hologram. "I love my new fairy friend!"

Iowa couldn't decide if he was amused or appalled by the pairing. Ada had been distracted by taking care of O'Malley, who had finally eaten food, that she had given in quite easily to Zeta's request to be outside the AI housing unit. However, to keep track of him, she had insisted he not just be left out in his little personal unit, fearing it would be damaged. The sane solution had been to move him to someone's armor. Iowa did not want Zeta in his head—he was not up to dealing with that experience yet nor did he think he was the healthiest mind for the innocent AI. That left Zeta's jaunt up to the Blue simulation troops' generosity.

And the only simulation trooper who had volunteered had been, well, Caboose.

It was sort of a match made in Heaven. If Heaven was depressing and slightly retarded in a literal sense, Church had said. Church had refused to go back with Caboose, instead choosing to reside in Tucker's memory unit for the time being, leaving Caboose quite lonely and willing to make a new friend. Ada gave the pair her blessing, hoping that they could distract each other safely while the harder discussion happened.

Around eleven, the Blues announced the Reds were on their way over to the base. Ada had fretted. Washington was still off in the valley, presumably murdering small wildlife. Tucker seemed uneasy over that and the looming question of what they were all going to do next.

Outside the base, Iowa found himself facing the path with the others feeling that same general unease. He should have been grateful that the Blues and Reds hadn't betrayed them outright yet. It seemed hopeless to think they'd also extend their hospitality indefinitely while he and Ada struggled to come up with a long-term plan…which also seemed terribly hopeless. He hadn't even had time to really think of such a plan.

Part of him wondered if it was even possible. He didn't share that doubt with Ada, who probably was thinking it all on her own without his help.

O'Malley clung to the rocks while they waited, leaning against them with feigned nonchalance. Iowa knew it was faked after watching how weak the AI had been inside the base. It was unclear if it was the dehydration or the affects of Xi that caused O'Malley to stumble so much. The AI had chosen to hang back from the main group; Iowa presumed it was to hide his newfound weakness. Part of Iowa hoped that weakness stayed. It might have been their only hope at keeping the destructive menace contained, never mind what Ada would say.

She was too busy eagerly awaiting the Reds to arrive. Her fears over Sigma—and Iowa knew she had to have plenty of those—must have kept her up all night. Her face was lined with exhaustion and nervousness, even when they finally did catch sight of the Warthog rolling over the hills and head toward Blue base.

"Well, at least they're still alive," Iowa offered.

Ada didn't say anything; she just stood back while Tucker and Caboose waved their sort-of-enemies their way.

The reds were indeed alive and seemingly unscathed. Sigma—still inside the suit of the pink soldier named Donut—was the only one who cheerfully hopped off the back of the Warthog and waved at the Blues. Sigma in a good mood was rarely a good thing lately, if ever.

Iowa also did not miss how O'Malley grew tense and defensive when Sigma's visor went his way. Maybe their theory about an inner AI power struggle was correct. At least they weren't attacking each other. Yet.

"Hello, everyone," Ada called. She waved at the approaching Reds. "Thank you for coming."

"Yeah, yeah, because this is such a party," Grif grumbled, stumbling out of the side of the vehicle. None of the Reds seemed happy to be there.

"The Reds do not appear to have been swayed by Sigma," Delta said, only his voice emerging from Ada's suit. Apparently he was up and alert.

Iowa crossed his arms against his chest. "We'll see about that soon enough."

Seemingly not sharing O'Malley's physical inability to walk in a straight line, Sigma beelined for Ada.

"Hello, brother, doctor," Sigma gushed. She paused and her tone turned noticeably colder even while her expression was shielded as she looked toward the ex-Freelancer standing by. "Iowa."

"Sigma," Iowa offered with fake enthusiasm. God, he hated her.

"I do hope you've behaved," Ada said, eyes narrowed toward Sigma.

"Tsk. Such distrust," Sigma chided. She turned around, practically whirling. "Let's get this started, shall we?"

While she was cheerful and most of the AI-team (Iowa hated to refer to himself as that) were all ready for a verbal battle, the simulation troops were unfortunately, naturally, slow to keep up to the tension. They were also visibly divided between confused and irritated.

"Alright, just so I know why I woke up at this ungodly hour," Grif began, yawning somewhere behind his helmet, " _Why_ are we here?"

"We're here to talk about what to do about the AIs, you doofus," Simmons said impatiently. He nodded toward the others, thankfully saner than most of his friends. "Alright, clearly, this is going to be a group decision. We all need to be on the same page."

"Wait," Grif interrupted again. "Like a group decision or a group-group decision?"

"What the hell does _that_ mean?" Church asked.

"Like, everyone-group or just us-group?" Grif asked. Iowa stared at him for a moment, torn between frustration and amusement.

Tucker sputtered. "What the fuck are you even saying? You're just saying words. Words that don't make sense."

"He means, or at least I think he means, are we deciding as Reds and Blues separately, or all together?" Simmons asked, impatient. "Because I would think this is a bit complicated to allow Reds and Blues deciding separately since you _know_ it's going to affect everybody."

"Blasphemy!" Sarge said loudly. He huffed when his own soldiers and the Blues sent him a long look. "Oh, fine, but mark my words, I refuse to let the name of the Reds be mixed with dirt-covered names like Blue!"

"Oh, my God, it's been like six years, is he _still_ like this?" Church asked, looking at Tucker.

The teal soldier snorted. "Yeah. We only have two years left of service and I'm pretty sure he'll end up staying another twenty illegally."

"It's not illegal if you're a patriot!" Sarge bellowed.

" _If I may?_ " Sigma began, poised to begin whatever monologue she had prepared for the occasion. " _Now that we're all here—_ "

Suddenly, a bright ball of yellow appeared in front of her. Sigma stopped, surprised.

"Hi, Sigma!" Zeta exclaimed, his tiny little form bouncing in the air.

The Reds, who had not met Zeta yet, were openly shocked over the new AI among them. Sigma seemed to falter at his presence as well.

" _Oh… hello, Zeta_ ," she said, without much enthusiasm. Her visored face turned to stare down Caboose, who looked a little nervous under the attention. " _You're with Mr. Caboose_."

"Yeah, he's really fun. He's not like other soldiers," Zeta said, oblivious to the tension and Sigma's discomfort. "What about you? Did you have fun last night?"

Iowa smirked to himself. Even if it was accidental, he enjoyed it when Zeta managed to distract or antagonize his "older" siblings. Sigma reluctantly conversed with him about it, visibly disgruntled about being waylaid from her original speech. Allowing Zeta free-reign with the mentally-challenged Blue was probably the best damn idea Ada had had since coming to that moon. The small smirk on the doctor's face seemed to suggest she thought so, too.

The distraction gave the humans some time to prepare themselves. While Caboose, Church, Ada and Sarge were seemingly content in observing the nearly one-sided exchange from Zeta to Sigma—and Sarge butting in loudly in protest over "inaccuracies" of Sigma's version of her stay with the Reds and her relaying "Red secrets"—Iowa noticed some of the saner simulation troops moving to the side.

"Hey, what did you guys think of her?" Tucker asked, whispering.

Iowa pretended to keep his focus on Sigma and Zeta. If anyone's opinions were worth bringing into their calculations, keeping on eye on Tucker, Grif and Simmons seemed logical. Eyes drifting to the side, he also noticed O'Malley was lurking close enough to be listening to their conversation as well. Maybe he had caught on too; Iowa didn't know if that was a good thing.

"Who, pink chick?" Grif asked.

"Yeah," Tucker said. He crossed his arms and continued to speak quietly, his visor pointed in Sigma's direction. "She seems normal, but I do _not_ like how Wash does not like her. I think its like Tex 2.0, only like, a sleeper version."

"I think she's creepy, but I don't know yet," Simmons said, speaking carefully. "Donut seems to like her."

"Donut's an idiot," Grif pointed out.

Simmons scowled. "Yeah, but what does that make the rest of us?"

Iowa pointedly did not think of or speak a reply to that.

Luckily, by that point, Sigma's patience had run out and she pushed past Zeta and Caboose with a deliberate flourish, feigning excitement to replace her discontent.

" _Now! I spent a wonderful evening with the Reds last night. It was educational. There seems to be a severe lack of trust between our individual units_ ," she said, arching her fingers. She sounded cheerful. " _We need to rectify this_."

"Ha, _rectify_ ," Tucker immediately said, grinning lewdly.

"Shut up, you idiot," Church snapped.

Sigma seemed content to ignore any new interruptions. " _I understand that you have reasons to mistrust Omega, whom you know as O'Malley. You do have reasons to trust our Alpha, however_ ," she said. She pointed vaguely towards the hovering Church, next to the Blues. " _Your dear friend Church, am I correct?_ "

"Church is not my dear anything," Tucker said, offering a raised hand.

Church flared red. "Shut it, fucker."

" _And don't bring me into this_ ," O'Malley also snapped. He was leaning against the rocks again, his voice raspier.

" _What happens to us happens to Church as well, you must understand_ ," Sigma continued quickly. Iowa watched her carefully, not trusting her smooth motions. It was bad enough to watch her standing still with a body. " _Freelancer will not care if he made friends with you. They will kill us all_."

"They're _really_ bad," Zeta offered, needlessly. It was unclear if having him there during the meeting was a good idea yet. Iowa sort of liked the diffusion.

"Yeah, we sort of figured that out when we helped you guys last time," Simmons said dryly. He turned back toward Church and sounded vaguely sympathetic. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Church. I feel bad for you. This whole thing is horrible. But…"

"You don't want to get killed. I get you," Church said. He sighed, his tiny holographic form slumping down a little. "I don't blame you, really."

"Really?" Grif asked.

Church straightened and flared. "No, I'm bitter as fuck, you assholes!" he snarled. "Thanks for throwing me to the curb!"

"You _are_ our enemy," Simmons said, crossing his arms.

"Shut up."

" _So, you will let us die?_ " Sigma asked, voice sickly sweet. Iowa sighed when Zeta whimpered quietly.

"Hey, no need to phrase it like that," Tucker said.

"Are we dyeing shirts?" Caboose asked, perking up. "I love rainbow shirts!"

"Caboose!"

Sigma focused on Tucker pointedly. " _I phrase it as it is. If you abandon us, you sentence us to death_ ," she said, sounding a bit more severe. " _Unless of course Dr. Livingston or Agent Iowa have a miracle up their sleeves._ "

Her gaze went back to Iowa and Ada. Iowa ignored the hair-raising sensation creeping up his arms. He hated her so damn much. Maybe not actually hated, but he sure as hell didn't like her.

"Getting off the ship probably used up all our luck quotas for a lifetime," he said, aiming for levity. He nodded at the Reds and Blues. "I'm being honest here: we don't have any other place to go. Not yet. We need to find other obscure bases. Maybe abandoned colonies or ones outside UNSC jurisdiction. There aren't many like that after the war."

"You're just going to live out in the middle of no where?" Tucker asked, surprised. How could he be surprised, Iowa wondered—it wasn't like there were other options.

"What choice do we have?" Ada said, hesitating. "I…"

"What?" Iowa asked, peering down at her.

Ada brought her hands together in front of her, revealing her nervousness. "I can do it. Or… it would only be temporary," she said, sounding uncertain. "Jason, you don't have to come with us."

Iowa blinked twice behind his visor before his brain caught up. He almost choked.

"Whoa, what the hell? Ada, I'm in this for the long haul, too!" he said, turning to face her completely. He grasped her shoulder. "Hell, lady, I just stole a shuttle out from under the Ethic Committee's noses for you. I can tolerate some life on the run sprinkled on top."

"Jason…" Ada began. Part of him wished she was wearing her helmet, just so he wouldn't have to see her expression.

Behind her, Delta flickered and then reappeared between her and Iowa. The tiny green figure seemed bigger than usual, almost. "What is not fair is your own presence here, Ada," the AI said, blunt as always. "You are a civilian. Out of everyone present, you are the least deserving of these circumstance."

"I chose this willingly, Delta. I'm very much involved in this, no matter if I own a gun or not," Ada said. She shook her head. "As long as I can, I'll help you."

" _I appreciate your efforts, doctor. We all do_ ," Sigma said. She was far more amused over the exchange. " _Kindness is not a gift we know much of, particularly from humans_." A quiet jab; the Reds and Blues might have missed the subtly, however.

"Look, fellas, ladies…" Sarge began, speaking reluctantly. Iowa didn't know if it was from guilt or just disdain. The old man was hard to read. "You have to see this from our point of view. We've been down this road before."

" _I am. And I feel bad_ ," Sigma offered. She paused. " _Or as badly as I can, as an artificial construct_ ," she added shamelessly. " _You're innocent victims of Freelancer. Quite like the rest of us._ "

 _Innocent my ass_ , Iowa thought, but he kept that to himself.

"What could we even offer to help you?" Simmons asked, sounding frustrated. That was a good question.

Ada spoke up. "Room and board, maybe for a few weeks," she said. "We need to find a place to hide the AIs permanently, with luck."

Grif and Simmons shared a look behind their visors. "That's… probably going to be tough to accomplish," Simmons said, reluctant. The other simulation troopers were unhelpfully quiet.

"I believe in miracles," Ada said, a bit too quietly to be sure of herself. Iowa gripped her shoulder tighter briefly.

Tucker scratched the back of his head. "Okay…so…if we do let you stay for a few weeks, hypothetically…" he began slowly. He arched a dark eyebrow. "What will you do?"

Iowa frowned. "I'll probably scout ahead for replacement locations," he said, nodding his head back towards their hidden ship. "I imagine the AI and Ada would lie low here."

"Probably," Ada agreed, though Iowa couldn't quite read the look she sent him with it.

"I like it here," Zeta offered, floating over Caboose now. Of course he would. Delta remained silent, but it was clear he'd merely go where told for now.

Grif shifted on his feet. "So, you'll not…kill us?" he asked, unsure. Sarge snorted.

Sigma clasped her borrowed hands together cheerfully. " _Of course not. You're our hosts_!" she said brightly. " _We're not mindless beasts. You have my word we will not harm_ anyone _._ "

"That's the biggest piece of bullshit I have ever heard."

Everyone jumped a little at the sudden interjection from beyond the other patch of rocks. Iowa turned and saw Washington returning to their little pow-wow, looking just a little murderous. The Reds and Blues seemed surprised, but unafraid of the new arrival. Ada and Iowa both shared a quick wary glance while Delta took on a more reddish hue. Zeta remained very still, appearing surprised at the unannounced return of yet another ex-Freelancer. Washington ignored them all in favor of stalking toward Sigma.

Iowa did not like the aggression radiating off of Washington. He was practically glowing.

" _Agent Washington_ …" Sigma began, voice heated. She turned and Iowa could just picture the nasty smile on her borrowed face, even though he had never seen this Donut guy in person before. " _Such a funny turn of events, you inferring that_ I'm _dangerous. Truly, I'm impressed you haven't managed to shoot any of your new friends dead yet._ "

"Save it," Washington snarled once he reached the edge of their circle. He pointed at her; his expression indicated he wanted to do more than point. "These idiots don't know you like I do. You're a liar and a sociopath."

" _And desperate_ ," Sigma replied smoothly, sidestepping the insults she probably didn't think were insulting. " _While desperation certainly does create dangerous individuals, it can also make us weak_."

Washington shook with rage. "I don't trust you. I never did," he said. Behind him, Tucker and Simmons shared a worried look.

Sigma's voice was sneering. " _Pity you didn't speak of it sooner, before little Carolina took a tumble_ ," she said in her sickly sweet croon.

Iowa wasn't sure what Sigma intended to incite at that moment. Maybe she did want Washington to hurl himself forward in a violent motion to strike at her—which he certain did—but Iowa had to imagine Sigma had larger plans than pissing off one of her old nemeses. Maybe she just slipped, Iowa considered in that split second. Maybe even psychopathic computers could cave to petty feelings like old hatred.

All his ponderings failed to matter in the next second when Ada thrust herself between Sigma-Donut and Washington, facing down the ex-Freelancer with a fearless expression. Delta turned solid red while Zeta yelled. Iowa went for his gun in a panic even as Washington stumbled slightly in front of Ada.

"Agent Washington!" Ada shouted, before he even had the chance to say anything. Iowa relaxed his grip on his gun when he saw Washington take a step backwards, visibly surprised at the bold doctor's move. Ada continued, breathlessly. "Sigma is a sociopath. You know this, _I_ know this. I will not allow her to harm anyone here."

" _Allow?_ " Sigma repeated, amusement replaced by a sterner voice.

Ada turned back to look at her in one sharp movement. "Sigma, be _quiet_ ," she snapped. Sigma flinched, just as surprised as Iowa was at the command. "For once, listen to me and be silent."

It wasn't just Sigma who fell silent. Everyone seemed to reel back in surprise over the exchange. Iowa's shock faded into a strange sense of pride, especially when Ada crossed her arms and merely stared the speechless AI down to wait for a reply or another moment to continue to the conversation.

" _Heh heh_ …" To the side, O'Malley tilted his faceless helmet their way, body visibly shaking with quiet laughter. His glee was palpable. " _Why did you ever not be this fun in sessions, doctor?_ "

" _You_ shut up, too," Ada said. O'Malley growled lowly and sulked immediately.

Iowa, for his part, chuckled. "I like this," he said. He could have watched those two AI get taken down a peg by Livingston all day long. If only that were possible…

"Iowa!" Ada chided.

"Sorry." Only, not. Iowa felt even less guilty when Zeta giggled faintly off to the side.

Ada turned back to the simulation troopers. "Sigma is telling the truth. We only mean to hide long enough for a chance to get the AIs into safety. Permanent safety. Whether that's here or elsewhere, I don't know," she said, pleading. "But please, give us time to figure out what to do. We're… out of options."

" _They'll hunt them down, too. The humans_ ," Sigma said, almost as an afterthought, her feigned disinterest easy to see through.

"Hate to say this, but Sigma's right," Church added. He nodded his head to the side. "Ada knows too much. Iowa, well, he's always been on the short list. They'll be shot on sight, most likely."

"Why?" Simmons asked.

" _It'll provide the easiest way of getting rid of… loose ends_ ," O'Malley said, chuckling lowly.

"Well, that sucks you picked shitty employers," Grif said, not budging.

"Ada's a civilian," Iowa said, scowling. "She took this job on because she's a good person. You going to damn her for that?"

"This is not about me," Ada insisted, while the Reds floundered for a response. Her eyes were pinched. "I am not above begging. I can't promise you that you won't be dragged into this mess again. I just…need time."

Her eyes went briefly to Zeta and Delta. The action didn't escape Iowa's notice. He wondered if the others saw it—and if they cared one way or the other.

"Please just give us a little more time," Ada said, looking back at the others desperately.

It was a simple request, but one that the likes of them could barely hope to grant anyone. Iowa had often prayed for more time, or a reversal of it, in his time with Freelancer. He never got his wish. Somehow, he doubted prayers would work in favor of creatures like Sigma or O'Malley…no matter who else would also benefit them.

The group had fallen into an uneasy silence. Even Sigma seemed content to wait back now, watching the circle like a hawk. The longer the silence dragged out, the tenser O'Malley became. Ada just wrung her hands and stared back at the group of silent men and machines.

"Aw, shucks, I haven't planned for this," Sarge muttered, breaking the silence.

Grif looked to his leader. "Being guilt-tripped by a woman?"

"No, _that_ I'm used to," his Sargent said, irritable. He rubbed the side of his helmet grumpily. "This whole group-think monstrosity, though. I can already feel the hippie-loving toxins sinking in."

"Sir, I cannot even…" Simmons started to say. He stopped himself and shook his head. "Never mind."

Clearing his throat, Simmons took charge of the simulation troops, so-to-speak. He stepped up and seemed to size them all up and the situation.

"Guys, what do we say?" he asked. He looked around the circle of reluctant associates. "Should we put this to a vote? To let them hide here while they find somewhere else to go?"

"Do I get a vote?" Church interrupted, eager. "I mean, I'm still a Blue. Technically."

Simmons made a derisive sound. "Augh, _fine_ , you get a vote."

"Sweet!"

"Okay…" Simmons shook his head and turned back to the rest of the group. "All in favor of letting them stay, raise your—"

Before their mockery of a democratic vote could take place, Tucker rudely interrupted when he took a wide step backwards. Iowa looked at the simulation soldier, immediately wary of the lazy soldier's intense expression.

"Hey, did you guys just hear that?" Tucker asked, slowly turning around, eyes slowly drifting in an upwards manner. Iowa froze. He didn't hear anything out of the norm. Just the buzz of the electrical equipment (all non-regulation) over Blue base.

"Hear what?" Grif asked, surprised.

"A distinctly familiar sound I was hoping to never hear again," the teal soldier said, his growing alarm more than a little alarming. Suddenly, Tucker looked straight upwards toward the cliffs and horror flashed across his expression. "Wash, look—!"

With a deafening blast of air and whirling propellers, a Pelican swooped down low a hundred meters away—and opened fire.

 

* * *

 

**End Chapter 9.**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, this wasn't exactly the way anyone wanted this to go. But action! Hi, action!
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -No, the Blood Gulch gang does not know about Carolina or (the real) C.T.. Yet. They also have little knowledge of the crashing of the Mother of Invention, so their impression of the Meta/AIs' death count is a bit off.  
> -As a random aside, holyshit do I need to catch up with Season 11. I am so bad at this fan thing, guys.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which people fight for their lives. I actually had to split this chapter because it was far too large. The next chapter should be here by the end of the week at the latest (going to try to build some kind of buffer…) Also pardon the shoddy fight scenes, it's been awhile since I wrote one (with humans).
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

 

In hindsight, they probably should have expected it.

At the time, there was little time to do anything but try to avoid being torn apart by turrets firing two thousand rounds a minute.

Iowa dove and grabbed Ada as the hail of bullets tore into the worn turf outside Blue base. Everyone was screaming, but he didn't care about anyone else. Bullets struck the rocks, but Iowa threw them both into the small crevice between two large boulders. Chest heaving, he took the lack of pain throughout his body as a sign he hadn't been hit.

Ada also seemed intact, scrambling to grab hold of the rock to sit upright, her face alight with panic and confusion. The attack had come out of no where. He immediately tried to map out an escape route, but he didn't know where there were dead ends among the rocks.

"What's going on? !" Ada asked, voice cracking due to the fact she spoke in a fast, high voice.

"The UNSC finally caught up, that's what," Iowa spat, eyes going upward. The Pelican was hovering in one place, tearing up any open spaces available. If it moved south, it could get them in range—

A thought hit him like a brick to the face.

"Where are the AIs? !" he asked, looking to Ada quickly.

Eyes perpetually open in fear, Ada seemed pinned to the wall. "They're up on the roof!" she said, voice catching. She winced as the gunfire shot overhead. "They're up there—they—I tried to keep them away from Washington—!"

"Fuck!" Iowa swore. He turned to the opening, saw Tucker ducked low behind one of their storage crates outside, and then turned back to Ada. He grabbed her shoulder, startling her. "Stay here, you hear me? Do not run out there, do not leave this fucking crevice!"

He cursed their luck. He should have been leading them both out of the danger zone. He shouldn't have had to worry about backtracking to the base—across the line of fire—just to grab an overblown computer system. The cost of not risking that trip, however, outweighed the insanity of attempting it.

Ada's panic increased. "Jason—!" she started to say, grabbing his arm with both hands, desperate.

Iowa flinched when a bullet pinged off the rock above their heads. "Ada! They will _shoot you_ if you go out there."

"They'll shoot you, too!" she screamed, fingers hooking into his armor.

They didn't have time. He didn't have time for this. Iowa yanked away from her. "Just stay here, damn it!" he said. "Delta! Keep her safe!"

The green AI appeared immediately next to Ada, who looked stricken. "Affirmative," Delta agreed. "Ada, we must not interfere with Agent Iowa's efforts. Distracting him will endanger us all."

Ada opened her mouth to speak—and then a gasp strangled in her throat. Iowa barely caught her when she flung herself toward the exit of the crevice. "Oh, God, _Zeta_! Where's Caboose? ! And Sigma—and Church? !"

Iowa scanned the sliver of space they had visual on and grit his teeth when he couldn't find the blue soldier holding Zeta. He could only hope that if the human had gotten shot, Zeta could have survived the impact. Then there was Sigma, Church and O'Malley to worry about…

"Fuck me..." Iowa whispered, bringing out his pistol. He had to get to the freaking base. Motion down inside the crevice was followed by a red body rolling down into the gully behind them. Iowa relaxed when he saw it was one of the simulation troopers. "Simmons! Where's Private Caboose? !"

"I don't know!" Simmons exclaimed. There was a singed mark on his shoulder, but he appeared unharmed otherwise, save for his strangled voice. "Who are these guys? !"

"You gotta ask?" Iowa demanded. He dared to peek out behind their cover. "Where's… _Wash_!"

He was lucky that he checked his shot; Washington slammed into the rock behind Iowa, having dodged from his own cover somewhere out of sight. The blue-and-yellow soldier kept his gun pointed outwards, body tense.

"We gotta take the ship down," Wash said, voice tight but otherwise calm.

The soldier beneath the helmet—a real soldier, tempered by stress and experience—was strangely comforting to Iowa. After dealing with civilians and idiots for the last few hours, having someone competent on his side was probably the best thing for his nerves, the little good it did offer him.

"You got a suggestion to do that?" Iowa asked, glancing upwards. The firing was beginning to concentrate toward their left. He could only hope whoever was being targeted was under sufficient cover.

"The roof has a man cannon," Wash said, nodding up toward the top of Blue base. "Launch some grenades or debris from there."

It took Iowa a few seconds to catch up to that plan. He wanted one of them to launch explosives at the ship to disable it? Simple enough. Getting to the roof was going to be the hard part, not to mention Iowa had planned on going there to bring something back with him in the first place. Frowning, he conceded that bringing the ship down was a priority no matter what.

Iowa flinched when Wash began to press past him, gaze apparently on something past his line of sight. "Wait…where are you going?" Iowa asked.

"I am keeping my friends alive," Wash told him flatly. "Are you going to help me?"

How adorable. "Looks like we're gonna partner up after all," Iowa said, grinning beneath his visor. He decided to take it all as serendipity. "If grenades fail, I'll get onto the ship and highjack it manually. What are you going to do?"

"Simmons left a rocket launcher in the back of the Warthog. I'll provide the ground support."

The valley was just full of delightful surprises. "It's a date," Iowa said in agreement. He inched forward, knee just barely dusting the edge of their cover. "Give me some cover and then watch for my _Spiderman_ , eh?"

Wash raised his rifle. "Affirmative," he said.

Iowa could only hope his stoic behavior meant Wash was serious about his role in their plan. He belatedly realized he should have said something to Ada. It wasn't the time to play into chivalrous goodbyes now, however. Wash rolled out to the front left of their position and began concentrated fire. He kept moving back toward wherever he had originally hidden and Iowa took his chance to run out.

Everything slowed down out on the field. Bullets still tore through the air. There was still a low roar from the engines and propellers. There were still shouts of men calling for order or answers. Iowa heard the blood rush in his ears in a great torrent that swamped those other noises. His feet pounded across the yellow-green turf and he realized if he had been hit, he wouldn't feel it until he stopped moving.

Sliding low, he got behind the next closest cover—one of the crates—and then rolled straight into Blue base's doorway. He slammed into the opposing wall that wasn't in the line of fire and he allowed himself two perilous seconds of physical reflection. No agonizing pain—he assumed he hadn't been torn up by bullets.

With that chore out of the way, Iowa craned his neck out to peer out to the front of the base. He saw Sarge and Simmons firing haphazardly upwards from one of the other rock crevices. Wash had gone back to their original location to assist. He couldn't see any bodies on the ground; miraculously it didn't seem like they had lost anyone. Yet.

Especially when he saw two other people braced against the wall to his left. Tucker and Caboose both had their weapons out, but were only staring out with gawking expressions. Great. The only good thing about seeing them was that Church was hovering agitatedly by Tucker, seemingly intact. Iowa crept over to their side.

Tucker was not exactly pleased to when he finally noticed the company. "Where are you going? _Shoot_ these fuckers!" he yelled.

"I have to get the AIs first, but we're going to try to bring the ship down," Iowa said, irritated. "Distract them when I get to the roof!"

Tucker sputtered. "Distract them? ! They're flying a helicopter, man, what the fuck could I do to distract them?"

"I don't know—maybe shoot at them!" Iowa snapped. He looked past Tucker at the other cowering Blue. "Caboose, are you injured?"

"N-no, I am good," Caboose confirmed, sounding shaken. "I still have my toes." Church snorted.

Whatever. Iowa craned his neck, trying to see around Caboose for a familiar flare of yellow. "Zeta, buddy, you good?" he called louder.

To his relief, Zeta appeared in a tiny, lowly-lit light by Caboose's leg. "Iowa, where are Ada and Delta?" the little AI asked, sounding afraid. "And Sigma, too?"

"I don't know where Sigma is, but Ada is just fine. Delta's watching out for her over by the rocks," Iowa said.

" _I'm_ fine, by the way, thanks for asking," Church said, bristling.

Before he could grant the AI a reply to that, Iowa winced when the arc of bullets seemed to shift over toward the building. "Shit, I got to get up there. Just do something with your freaking weapons and help me until Wash and I bring the ship down!"

"Hurry up, then!" Tucker snarled. He cringed when the sound of bullets ripping into the concrete outside echoed in the opening. "Fuck!"

" _I fucking hate this fucking army_!" Church howled.

Iowa rolled his eyes and left the idiots to fend for themselves. At least they were mostly safe inside, unlike their companions outside.

The problem with the bases at Outpost 17 was the fact that the roofs slanted out to ground level. That left Iowa with a huge disadvantage if their enemies came up from behind. They couldn't even be sure there was only one Pelican to worry about. If there were other ground troops, it was possibly they had already breached the base's interior.

He had to get to the AIs, however. Iowa grit his teeth and took off down the hall, checking each doorway and turn he encountered with fierce precision. If he ran into anyone not wearing Blue or Red armor, they weren't going to stop him.

He got to the ramp that led up to the roof from the inside. Heart racing, Iowa recounted the various times in his career he had to infiltrate exposed bases and compounds. There were some that stood out as worse than his current predicament, but honestly, even the easy ones hadn't been a picnic. The skies seemed clear over the base and the sound of gunfire continued focus on the front of the base. Iowa said a prayer anyway as he slowly crept out of the base, keeping as low as possible.

The roof was clear. Iowa flinched when he heard one of the sabot rounds from the Pelican slam into the rocks. It wouldn't bring down the concrete or the boulders most likely, but the shrapnel could kill just as fast. He had to move faster.

At the front of the base—where the Pelican hovered furiously—he saw the man cannon, which glowed a familiar bright blue. There wasn't much he could throw through it that could actually damage the Pelican other than grenades. Cursing lowly, Iowa glanced around quickly.

In the far corner, almost opposite of the launch, he saw the oblong AI containment unit. It was on its side, but otherwise seemed intact. Iowa ducked and rolled toward it, praying he would remain undetected for just a little longer.

Iowa couldn't help exhale sharply in relief when he finally got his hands onto the AI containment unit.

"Got you, kids," he whispered as he hauled the unit upright. He glanced over all the sides, though he was barely qualified to know if it was in fact undamaged. It seemed to be fine. Iowa smirked. "Though I doubt you want to see me of all people."

He had to get the containment unit out of the way and then launch his attack on the Pelican. Leaving the AIs by themselves again didn't seem like a sound solution, but if he failed in disabling their enemies at a distance with random debris, he didn't want to be hauling the prize with him into the air. He thought briefly about rolling the AIs down into the center of Blue base, since the unit had already taken a few drops and survived—

That thought trailed off when he heard the distinct sound of armor on concrete behind him, where his back faced the ramp on the other side of the base. Iowa froze.

"Iowa," the Freelancer standing behind him offered.

Iowa grinned into his visor and slowly turned around to face the gun and the yellow armored man holding it.

"Oregon."

_Shit_.

**0000**

Freelancers were _**fucking insane**_.

Watching Iowa and Wash do their secret-planning-because-we're-Freelancers thing was annoying. Watching Iowa dive out into the open field like that with a helicopter bearing down on them with two massive gun turrets was horrifying. Simmons could not fathom (a) how they were so badass or (b) how fucking insane they were.

He had more important things to worry about beside that, however. Simmons knew that no matter what sort of crazy plan Iowa and Wash had devised, he personally was still obligated to help.

Ada had remained pinned to the rocks, watching in horror as Iowa dove out there. At least she had enough sense not to run after him, but Simmons still cringed at her expression.

Feeling obligated due to the fact she was a civilian and he sort-of-technically-wasn't, Simmons helped her down from the main opening to their cover and back to where he and Grif had fallen into earlier. The ditch was far enough away that it would be safer for her for the meanwhile.

"You guys, uh, stay down here, in the gully," he said. He winced as the firing continued. "You should be pretty clear from fire down here."

Not that that would matter if the soldiers exited the Pelican to hunt down survivors in the rocks later. Ada nodded anyway, perhaps not seeing that future event as a possibility, and Delta continued to glow a steady reddish color by her side. Both sat there quietly, Ada looking more and more traumatized. Simmons left them reluctantly (mostly because it _was_ safer down there than back up at the mouth of the entrance) and regrouped with his teammates and Wash.

Sarge had been hit once in the shoulder. Thankfully the armor had taken most of the blow, but Simmons could see the older soldier was in pain. He couldn't tell where most of the Blues had gone, but he hoped they weren't dead already. Grif and himself were fine, outside of psychological trauma.

Wash did not seem any different than he normally did—except now, Simmons was reminded of the soldier they had faced over a year ago, back when Wash had teamed up with the Meta and attacked their base there at Valhalla. The man who had shot Donut in cold blood and then held two innocent people hostage—that was what Simmons saw in Wash's tension-lined face.

He could only hope that now, with that expression pointed somewhere besides the Reds, Wash would be just as effectively against their new enemy as he had been against them a year ago.

All three Reds ( _oh, fuck, where was Donut?!_ ) sank against the rocks just below where Wash was crouched.

"You got a plan, don't you?" Sarge asked, grunting as he adjusted his injured shoulder.

Wash grunted and continued to reload his gun. "Yeah, you could call it that."

Sarge nodded his head toward the Pelican. "What do you need us to do?"

Grif made a strangled noise at the idea of having to do anything at that point, but Simmons paid careful attention. He didn't want to die, so if that meant helping out, he'd take the risk.

"Normally I'd say stay out of the way and don't get shot," Wash said, glancing back at them. He grimaced; only then did Simmons realize the ex-Freelancer didn't have his helmet. Uh-oh. "I need you to cover me while I run for the rocket launcher. We need to bring the ship down, ASAP."

"Whoa, you're going to run out into that bullet storm? !" Grif exclaimed. "Are you crazy?"

They all winced when something much deadlier than a bullet slammed into the rocks. Chipped rock and shrapnel flew everywhere. Wash rounded on Grif quickly once the sound died down briefly.

"I'm not crazy!" he snarled. He pushed to his feet even while the sound of the turrets continued. "And can you at least distract them while I get the rocket launcher?"

The rocket launcher was out in the Warthog, a clear fifteen-meter dash across the open field in front of Blue base. It was tantamount to a suicide run. "Yeah, but Wash, what if they hit you?" Simmons asked, starting to feel faintly nauseous at the idea of trying to cover him during that run. Man, he did not want that sort of responsibility.

Wash flinched at another rocket, but recovered quicker this time. "Then it's going to suck, but so help me, if you do not at least _try_ , I will come back to _haunt_ you for the rest of your miserable lives!" he shouted.

"Been there, done that!" Grif said with a snarl. He raised his rifle and started firing at the tip of the Pelican just barely visible beyond the rocks. "Just get moving, asshole!"

Before Simmons could blink, Wash complied. He dove out into the open line of fire, expecting backup from the very people whom he regularly called idiots. That sort of trust would have been humbling in a less hostile scenario. Now, Simmons was terrified.

He rushed up to the opening and got a full glimpse of the Pelican. It was a standard model from what Simmons could tell. It had two rapid-fire turrets on the sides, which had torn the landscape to shreds and left bullet holes all over the front of Blue base. He lost sight of Wash almost instantly as Simmons and his teammates were left to dodging a stream of bullets immediately falling upon them.

Mind racing, Simmons dove down the ditch and then back up toward another narrow passage that ran alongside the Pelican. Simmons fired haphazardly at the exposed side of the aircraft. He had to duck to the side again when one of the soldiers on board started to fire his own weapon at the Red. Then, out of no where, he heard an echoing explosion and the sound of men screaming.

Daring to peek out, he looked just in time to see Wash flinging what had to be a second grenade up at the Pelican. The first must have exploded in the air next to the craft, as the standing men inside were merely knocked over. Their attempts to get up were thwarted by the second grenade. Wash neatly dodge rolled out of the new line of fire and slid behind the Warthog.

"He is batshit insane," Grif whispered, also appearing at the gap to watch.

"Only a lot," Simmons said, swallowing against the lump in his throat. It might have been more apt to say Wash had _balls of steel_.

"Huh," Sarge said, in a conversational way behind his shoulder. "Well, this certainly exemplifies why we've been getting our asses handed to us as of late."

"Yeah, you could say that."

They watched in tense silence for Wash to reappear. The Pelican was continuing to tear up everything in sight, but surely the soldiers had noticed the ex-Freelancer by the jeep. If the ship managed to turn around and fire on the Warthog, it wouldn't last as cover for Wash.

Simmons exhaled the breath he hadn't noticed he had been holding when Wash finally did appear, the top of his brown hair poking out from beyond the Warthog's back. The rocket launcher was being loaded. Simmons watched as Wash glanced furiously behind him, then up at the Pelican, and then behind him again—

And then, even at that distance, Simmons saw Wash hesitate. His gaze remained focused on something beyond the Reds' line of sight. It wasn't on the Pelican, that was for sure.

"What's he waiting for? !" Grif asked, terrified. He waved his hands higher over his head. "Shoot them!"

"I think he's waiting for Iowa to do something," Simmons said, ducking as the gunfire picked up again, directed at the rocks. "Maybe we should—"

His suggestion died in mid-speech as the three Reds watched Wash drop the rocker launcher onto the ground beside the Warthog—and then take off toward the creek side of the base. Away from the rest of them.

"…what is he doing?" Simmons asked, feeling as though the world just dropped out from under his feet.

"Wash?" Grif called. He stood upright in horror as the Blue disappeared down the incline. "WASH! WHERE ARE YOU GOING? !"

"What the fuck? !" Simmons exclaimed. Wash couldn't—he wouldn't just— _leave_ them!

"Grab it!" Grif screamed. He opened fire again at the Pelican, which had begun to turn its focus back away from them in favor of hunting down Washington. "That fucking idiot just fucked us over!"

Sarge grabbed Simmons' rifle out of his hands and started to fire upwards, nailing the helicopter in the propellers, apparently causing some sort of damage as it made a horrendous noise. "Get moving, Simmons, we'll cover you!" Sarge bellowed.

While thinking _Why does it have to be me? !_ shrilly, Simmons reacted instinctively. He wasn't one to cannon ball into a cold body of water, but there was something about running into a battle zone that required blindly throwing oneself into the line of fire, he learned then.

He stumbled gracelessly and Simmons could only imagine he had been torn apart already by the gunfire. But he kept running, and somehow, it didn't feel like he had been torn to shreds. He still heard gunfire, but it had become muted under the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

He got halfway to the car when something dark flew overhead and crashed into the Pelican. Simmons vaguely remembered hearing something about Iowa's part in the plan, but there was no explosion like there had been last time when Wash had singlehandedly taken out a Pelican using fusion coils. Instead, there was a horrendous crashing sound and the entire craft lurched in the air.

Simmons decided that the lack of gunfire meant something had happened—maybe Iowa had launched himself at the ship instead—and that it was serendipity, since it provided him just a few more precious seconds of distraction. The Warthog seemed horribly far away, but after three more breathless seconds, he tripped right over his own feet and landed visor-down on the grass behind the back wheel.

_Success_ , he thought, wheezing out through cold fear.

With stiff limbs, Simmons hauled himself to his knees. He heard the UNSC guys shouting angrily just a few dozen meters above him. The ship had swayed to the side and if they moved just a few meters closer, they could have had an open shot at him. He had to move quickly—

Simmons froze when he saw Washington. He was running full speed away—no, not away. Toward someone. It was just a flash, but Simmons knew he saw a streak of purple.

Purple. Doc. Simmons' jaw slowly dropped as he gathered up the discarded rocket launcher.

It was only then that he understood what had happened. Wash was going after Doc—or rather, O'Malley. They had all seen the purple medic run that way at the start of the firing; it was easy to imagine it was O'Malley at the controls then. Simmons couldn't fathom how _now_ had been the proper time or place for Wash to go charging after his would-be nemesis. Wash wasn't the kind of guy who abandoned his team. It didn't make any fucking sense and it wasn't fair.

Taking in a rattling breath, Simmons hugged the rocket launcher to his chest and tried to gather some semblance of courage. Well, he wasn't a team-deserter (or at least, not a guy who ditched his team _before_ they were total dicks to him and underappreciated his efforts.) He had to do something. _Him_ , Private First Class Richard Simmons.

He winced as he heard Grif shouting something—maybe at him to hurry up, or maybe over something more dire—and quickly finished loading the new canister into the tube. He only had one real shot at this. If he missed, the ship would tear him to pieces where he stood.

Then again, he thought hysterically, he was dead if he didn't. He decided to put full faith in his adrenaline holding up until his fate was decided either way—and he stood up, whirling around with the rocket launcher tucked against his shoulder, pointed up toward his enemies.

" _Suck it, Freelancer_!" he screamed, both in fear and a strange sort of adolescent rebellion he had skipped in his youth.

Whether it was the adrenaline or the fact he was half-falling already on his heels, the recoil of the rocket launcher sent him flying just as the face of the Pelican turned toward his direction.

**0000**

Iowa's week just kept getting better and better.

He had frozen when he had turned around to face the other Freelancer holding the gun on him. Oregon didn't appear to be tense at all. His grip on the gun seemed loose and his pose was casual.

"You really thought you could hide them here?" the yellow-armored Freelancer asked, sounding amused. "This was the first place he said to look. These idiots are about as involved in these AIs as we are."

Iowa grinned nastily. "Yeah, well, never said I was top of the class. Clearly," he said. He could only imagine who else had been assigned this mission. There could have been Freelancers all over the field by that point. "I assume by he, you mean our lovely former employer."

Oregon snorted. "The UNSC still wouldn't give him permission to send out a team to hunt you criminals down, but he was never one to need to express his expectations of the rest of us."

The turret fire didn't cease a hundred meters away. "We're all criminals here, Oregon. You think the UNSC is going to let any of us walk?" Iowa asked, wracking his mind for some sort of solution to his predicament. "We'll tell them everything they missed. The AIs, they know more than you thought they did. They'll show everything this time around."

He was only partially bluffing. Ada seemed to know more than she should have, clearly, if the Director had ordered him to kill her if she had hung around. That meant that the AIs knew even more they hadn't shared with anyone yet. If captured, such information might have been their only ace left. That still left Ada and Iowa out to hang, but maybe Ada could get away with only a court martial. That was the best-case scenario at the moment.

"Let us walk?" Oregon asked, laughing loudly. "Maybe the Director. Hell, maybe I'll get a few brownie points for taking _initiative_." He raised the gun up, his finger tightening around the trigger. "But I really don't think you'll be walking anywhere, Iowa, sorry to say."

Iowa tilted his head at the other soldier. "I'm sure you are," he said sweetly.

He dropped the moment the gun fired. Knees bracing, Iowa shot forward to close the distance between them. He swung his leg upright to knock the gun out of the other soldier's grip, but Oregon rolled with the kick. Iowa pulled his own pistol free and fired twice as Oregon ducked and rolled.

Iowa felt the harsh brush of a bullet on his side, but he didn't stop. He brought his arm up to knock the gun away from his face. Oregon's knee came up out of no where and slammed into him, sending Iowa stumbling backwards, losing precious time. His gun went flying.

He compensated by rolling back completely, launching back off the roof to catch Oregon right under the chin with the bottom of his boot. Oregon snarled something and there was a clatter of a gun across the cement. Iowa flipped back to his feet, but Oregon hit him like a fucking tank, sending both men sprawling.

The fight-or-flight feel settled in his gut far quicker than it should have. Iowa didn't want to think he had gone soft while babysitting on the _Falcon_. He brought his arms up to block two heavy punches that probably would have cracked through his visor. He could not shake the harrowing feeling of helplessness laying there; he had to find his gun, _any gun_ , and get back on his feet, _now_.

Heaving with the strength he had left, Iowa launched his lower body up to dislodge his opponent. It didn't get them far, but Iowa scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could. He saw the gun laying just a sparse meter away.

A heavy blow hit him in the back and he overcompensated, slamming into the roof. Iowa reached to get his knife, but it had fallen beneath him. He struggled to grab it, but the sight of Oregon rising up over him told him he didn't have time.

"I'm going to enjoy putting a bullet in that dumb cunt's skull," Oregon hissed, stomping down onto the downed man's chest, which registered through Iowa's chestplates. "But not as much as I'm going to enjoy _this_."

Iowa scrambled to grab his knife, pinned beneath him, as Oregon raised the barrel of his recovered weapon to stare him down like some soulless, cavernous optic—

A pink blur interrupted that one-way call to meet his maker. Iowa stifled a gasp as Oregon was kicked off of him. The pink soldier—Donut—mercilessly followed up with deadly looking punches and a solid kick to the chest, which sent Oregon flying across the roof.

And straight into the man cannon. Iowa blinked as he watched Oregon go hurtling through the air and straight into the side of the Pelican, shattering one side of the canopy and sending the whole craft physically backwards.

Standing still to watch their enemies, Sigma did not pay Iowa any heed on the roof floor. Iowa stared up at the AI and tried to react properly.

"…do I dare ask why the fuck you would save my life?" he asked, chest heaving as he peered up at the pink figure. "Or is this just some part of a grand, twisted revenge scheme?"

Sigma didn't have to have a face to put on a big sneer. "Oh, spare the dramatics, Agent Iowa, I believe I do enough for the both of us," she said, voice scathing. She moved over and picked up the AI containment unit, as if unhindered by the weight of it. "And for your information, it wasn't your life I was intending to save."

It figured. "The AIs are okay," Iowa said, grunting as he got to his feet. He cringed at the sound of bullets, which thankfully wasn't pointed their way yet. Whatever edge they had had with Oregon flying into the side of the ship was gone. "Come on, Wash, shoot that thing down already!"

"That was your plan?" Sigma asked, sounding unimpressed. She nodded toward the ship, where Oregon had successfully managed to climb down from the roof and swing back inside the ship. "The ship is still in the air and Agent Oregon seems to still be alive. We should prepare for counterassault—"

Iowa ducked at the sound of a rocket shrieking through the air. To his utter surprise, it hadn't come from the Pelican at them. Turning around, Iowa saw the rocket collide with the tail of the Pelican, ripping into the metal and sending the craft careening wildly through the air.

For a split second, he wanted to curse Washington for his shit aim; the Warthog was practically right under the Pelican. How could the ex-Freelancer not get a direct hit that could have taken out the cockpit, not just damage the hull? By the time Wash reloaded, the Pelican could have recovered and opened fire again.

However, as he started to move toward the edge, Iowa saw a flash of maroon. It wasn't Washington who had fired. Iowa's jaw dropped.

"What the fuck is he doing? !" he exclaimed. It was one of the simulation troopers—the maroon one. There were no blue-armored soldiers anywhere in sight. "Where's Wash? !"

"I do believe Agent Washington has been distracted," Sigma said coolly, staring down at the north side of the base.

Iowa stepped up, confused, and tried to figure out what she meant. "That's…oh, shit."

Far out there, on the ground, a blue-and-yellow armored soldier had the only purple medic on the field in a goddamn headlock.

Oh, _shit._

Alarms shrieking, the Pelican's whirling descent brought it face to face with the roof as one of the soldiers finally grabbed hold of the turret.

And then, the entire left-hand side of the ship exploded.

**End Chapter 10.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, rockets and punches. Also horrible intentions that meant well.
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -I refuse to accept Wash is a blond. This is AU anyway, I'll do what I want with his hair! Haha.  
> -Despite the fact they weren't on the leaderboards at Freelancer, I'm pretty sure Oregon and Iowa would qualify as lethal warriors compared to the Reds and Blues, too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments, guys! Our heroes continue to do some things. Some better than most.
> 
> Bad news: I didn't get a buffer done (aka premade chapters). The good news is that I did a bunch of plot outlining though, so at least I know where we'll be headed for the time being. :)
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

 

To his credit, he did hit the ship. It didn't cripple the ship or send it spiraling into a fiery explosion, but Simmons did hit the ship with the rocket.

However, that was not enough, apparently, because the Pelican was still in the air and was not even spiraling out of control. It had been sent into a tailspin, but even Simmons could tell it was going to regain control. Only the roofline of the Pelican was smoldering now.

" _You fucking missed!_ " Grif howled from across the field.

"I didn't miss, I hit the top part!" Simmons screamed back at him. He hurriedly shoved another rocket into the launcher. "Aughh, cover me, I'm reloading!"

"Simmons, watch it!" Sarge shouted, just as the Pelican's engines emitted a roaring sound.

"Huh?" Simmons looked up and hauled the rocket launcher back upright as he saw a turret turn directly at him. "Oh, fuck—!"

Somehow, he wasn't torn to pieces that time either. Instead, as he fumbled with finding the damn trigger, a streak of blue went through the air and sliced straight through the front of the turret. It backfired and one of the UNSC soldiers above started to scream as he caught fire from the resulting flare up.

Simmons gaped. Who had—?

"Fire that thing already, asshole!" someone to his left shouted.

Turning, he saw Tucker running toward him, without his sword. The energy sword had fallen from the ship after reverting to its inactive state. Tucker had thrown it? All that distance? Simmons held back the questions and struggled to focus on his task at hand.

"Right!" He turned back and braced himself properly as he pointed the rocket launcher right at the Pelican's front left side. "Everyone, stand back—!"

This time, at least, he didn't going flying back onto his ass when the rocket launched. He yelped at the throwback, however. Before he could wonder if he had missed yet again, he watched the yellow and red streak soar and veer off just slightly to the right—

And then slam with almost intended extra force into the Pelican canopy. The resulting explosion made Simmons duck, but when he looked back up in a panic, the craft was already spinning wildly out of control. It swung neatly over the edge of Blue base and then careened toward the rocks, its alarms blaring even louder. Simmons watched in silence as the Pelican hurtled toward the far side of the rocks, fire erupting from both sides.

The deafening crash was accompanied by a brief burst of fire and then billowing smoke somewhere beyond their position.

Simmons stood there, breathing heavily, and slowly lowered the rocket launcher. He couldn't believe it had _worked_.

Everyone crept out after the crash rather quickly. Ada and Delta came out from the rocks, apparently having moved up earlier to observe, and followed behind Sarge over to the Warthog. Caboose poked his head out from the Blue base entrance and seemed nervous about walking out further.

Tucker seemed irrationally pleased by the events. He sauntered up to Simmons' side with a glowing Church right at his shoulder.

"Whoa, those guys were right!" the teal solider said. He picked up his discarded blade and swung it appreciatively. "Having an AI in your suit definitely makes you more badass."

"Did you just call me badass?" Church asked, sounding pleased.

Tucker snorted derisively. "I called you being in my suit badass. It's mostly _me_ that's badass."

"Oh, fuck you, dickface, that's not how this works," Church snarled. His tiny holographic form suddenly jumped and he grew more serious. "Hold up, guys, they're still alive."

"How many?" Sarge asked, loading his shotgun with some effort due to his one shoulder.

"I am detecting four remaining life signatures coming from the crash location," Delta announced from next to Ada. "Three are moving."

"Yeah, what he said," Church said. He paused and his tiny shoulders sagged a bit. "Fuck, I'm really bad at this computer thing."

"I thought you weren't a computer," Grif said, unimpressed.

Church flared red. "I'm not! _Fuck_!" he shouted. "Come on, let's kill these bitches!"

"That's the spirit, dirtbag!" Sarge exclaimed, gaining back his usual enthusiasm. "Move out, men!"

"We have to find Wash," Simmons said, causing everyone to stop. "He was going after Doc."

Ada turned, eyes wider. "What do you mean, going after Doc?" she asked, startled.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Simmons said, pointing to the cliffside and the creek where he had seen them. "Only I would bet money it's not Doc he's actually after right now."

Everyone paused.

"Oh, dear," Ada said, moving forward in alarm.

**0000**

_What did you see, David?_

He didn't remember leaving the Warthog.

_We just need to know, David, what you did you see?_

He briefly realized he was running downhill, splashing into the shallows of the creek bed.

_What did Epsilon show you?_

Washington found himself barreling up the incline, knowing in the back of his mind that he was leaving his team alone, out there, in full exposure to danger.

But he could not, for the life of him, stop now.

Because he remembered everything Epsilon had shown him, but he also remembered one other thing. Something only a few miserable souls like him ever knew. He remembered what it was like to be a puppet, to not be in control. He remembered the feeling of having something else crawling into the deepest recesses of his mind, replacing thought with terror and pain, tearing him apart from the purest parts of him, and it wasn't just because of what happened yesterday.

That was what Epsilon had _shown him_.

Even if he was last of those he had loved so dearly years ago, he refused to become like them.

_Washington did not desert his team._

He hurtled out into the air right over the path the medic and monster had taken. O'Malley hadn't even seen him coming or heard him, but with the distance sound of battle in the background, maybe that explained it. The full force of the sound hit Washington's ears the moment he collided with the purple armored man and they collapsed to the ground.

Doc had cried out and landed flat on the grass. Washington rolled off of him, chest heaving from exertion, and it took him a second longer than it should have to climb to his feet. He felt out of control, but his mind was on fire. He saw his objective and had to take it, or else…or else…

"Wash!" Doc exclaimed, sounding startled when he lifted his head. "You scared m— _what do you want?!_ "

The snarl from O'Malley immediately fixed his stiff limbs. Washington stood up, looming over the downed creature.

_I remember fucking everything._

He slammed O'Malley back into the tiny rock barrier that shielded them on the incline. "Shut up and stay down, you moron!" he snapped. "Are you hit?"

"N-no, we were just trying to get to cover by the water," Doc said, struggling to sit up properly with Washington's foot on his shoulder. He suddenly seized up and attempted to dislodge the foot. " _Get off of me!_ "

The lack of real effort behind the push meant O'Malley was still weak. Washington counted that as one of his few blessings he'd get.

"Doc," he said, readying himself.

The purple medic stopped struggling and seemed to peer up at him in confusion beneath that yellow visor. "Y-Yeah?"

There was no real way around this. Harsher memories fueled his decision.

"Doc," he began, "I'm sorry about this."

Doc started to ask something, but Wash didn't let him. He grabbed the back of the medic's helmet and smashed his forehead directly into the rock before he or O'Malley could react. Doc yelled—or maybe that was O'Malley—but Wash moved quickly. He grabbed the underside of Doc's helmet, finding the release.

" _Washington_ —!" O'Malley snarled. Wash yanked the helmet off before he could finish his snarl.

It was not the smartest move or the most painless, but it was the only option. Gasping in pain, Doc fell away from Wash. The look on his face clearly showed the sudden disconnect from O'Malley's presence had been like knife to the center of the forehead. Wash knew that feeling all too well. He refused to feel guilty as he flung the helmet away, letting it crash into the ground and roll away.

Doc fell to the ground like dead weight, but immediately went to hold his head. "Wh-why—?" he stammered, voice sharp with pain. Disconnecting from an AI without proper preparation was agony. Wash would know.

"Get up," Wash said, grabbing the purple armored shoulders to haul the medic upright. Doc tried to pull away. "We need to move! I need to help the others!"

He didn't have time to linger. He had left the Reds in a shitty position and if Iowa needed help, he had probably missed the window of opportunity to provide it. He couldn't have just let O'Malley run off like that, however, maybe to escape the basin. He couldn't just let Doc be stuck like that, alone—

"Where's O'Malley?" Doc asked, stunned.

Wash glared and started to drag Doc back toward the base. " _Move_ , you idiot!"

Let the damn psychologist worry about the AIs. If she wanted to save O'Malley, she could go find him herself.

"We can't just leave him!" Doc exclaimed, twisting in his grasp, eyes going back to his helmet on the ground.

"Are you fucking serious?" Wash snarled, surprise and anger melding together when he realized Doc was trying to go _back_. Was he insane? !

He was saved the indignity of dragging Doc down the incline when a startling explosion sent both men ducking. When he looked up, Wash saw the Pelican spiraling downwards in a smoking wreck. It hadn't been Iowa who had done that, not unless the ex-Freelancer had gone for the rocket launcher in desperation. It had to have been Simmons or another Red.

"Holy shit…" he said, more than a little surprised at his friends' accomplishment. "They finally got it."

It was only then that the possibility he had picked the wrong time to leave them entered his mind. Wash fought a rising sense of dread. What if one of the Reds had been hit going for the rocket launcher? Tucker and Caboose had been closer, inside the base, but they hadn't heard the plan. If Iowa had been injured during the mission, that was fine. But if one of the simulation troopers had been caught in the crossfire of a plan Wash had created…

_Fuck_ , he thought, moving forward quickly toward the rocks. Panic began to blossom in his chest. He couldn't have fucked up that badly. He _couldn't_ have.

"W-Wash, hold up," Doc said, stumbling behind him. His hand kept going up to his forehead, his eyes creased with pain. "We can't j-just leave O'Malley there!"

Wash didn't have time to stop now. He reached out and grabbed Doc by the arm. "You are a moron!" he said. He was now hyperaware of how close they were to the crash site. "We have to move!"

"Stop yelling, please," Doc said, pathetically dragging his feet.

"You are such an idiot," Wash seethed, marching them forward, his eyes going to the smoldering wreck just beyond the hill. "Come on. They're not dead yet."

He was not ignorant to the fact he saw people moving. Whether or not they would live for long or would succumb to injuries later was irrelevant. He didn't have a decent weapon on him to combat them and he needed to check in with his team. It didn't help that Doc was still dragging his fucking feet. Wash turned around to yell at him again, but stopped when he saw motion closer.

At first, he thought it was insane how close the body was compared to the crash. There was no way an injured UNSC soldier, armor or no, could have run that distance in such a short time, closing the distance between them since the crash less than a minute earlier.

Wash realized his mistake the second the soldier was launching off a rock right at him.

" _Oh, fuck—!"_

He at least managed to push Doc back, who yelled out uselessly, and Wash was grateful their attacker didn't have a gun out yet. A heavy fist collided with Wash's exposed forehead and stars burst behind his eyes as he went down hard. The other person landed on him hard, a knee solidly knocking the wind out of him.

Belatedly, he regretted not taking the time to put his helmet back on earlier.

_Fuck!_ Wash moved his head just in time to avoid another punch. He grabbed one of the incoming fists and heard his attacker breathing heavily. Looking up, he saw the faceless mask of a standard UNSC soldier—a lieutenant—but it was still all wrong. Blood was seeping down his neck from a severe looking laceration. The man's side was blacked from fire. Wash couldn't fathom how the man was able to fight like that or why he'd go for the two of them—

Realization hit him like a brick.

"O'Malley," he said, struggling to catch his breath.

The soldier wasn't in Freelancer armor, but there was a helmet. Wash could only imagine the complexities of AI control, not that he wanted to. Omega never was a "normal" AI, even among his siblings. He was designed to break down the rules.

O'Malley proved that by parading around in a half-dead man. "Never pegged you for sentimentality, Washington," the AI hissed as he loomed overhead.

The body was absurdly heavy and Wash struggled to keep O'Malley's hand from reaching his throat.

"They are my team, every single one of those idiots," Wash replied, gasping for breath with that knee crushing down on him. He wished expressions could kill; his would have vaporized the fucking monster on the spot. "I am not letting them die. _Any_ of them."

He was not going to stand by and let one of them become a prisoner to their own mind. He was not going to let an abomination like Omega tear his family apart _again_ —

"That is such a pity I do not _care_ ," O'Malley said, raising his fist.

Wash couldn't duck that time and he felt the blow rattle his skull. He swung his own arm out but hit open air. The weight lifted and he immediately curled to the side, coughing wildly.

He had to get up, before O'Malley killed him. Wash felt like a sitting duck out there, but he quickly realized he wasn't the AI's target anymore. He saw the UNSC puppet stumble toward the purple medic, who had fallen over and seemed incapable of getting back to his feet.

"As for _you_!" O'Malley snapped. He kicked Doc in the side, pushing the medic onto his back. "Put on your helmet."

"N-no," Doc started to say, finally just a little fearful.

O'Malley snarled and grabbed a fistful of Doc's hair. Doc yelled in pain and tried to dislodge the hand that hoisted him nearly off the ground. He scrambled to get to his feet as O'Malley dragged him toward the helmet two meters away. Wash floundered in anger and struggled to his feet.

Gunfire was suddenly coming closer. Wash had to duck when a bullet hit the dirt behind him. Others had survived the crash, but he couldn't focus on them now. O'Malley threw Doc to the ground and pinned him after grabbing the helmet.

"You don't need to do this!" Doc stammered. He was still trying to push the impassive form off of him, the gesture pathetic. "C-can't we come up with something else?"

O'Malley responded with a closed fist. Doc was struck back down and seemed dazed. Seemingly not caring about lying out in the open with UNSC agents headed their way, O'Malley deftly shoved the helmet back onto Doc's head, the release clicking. The UNSC soldier dropped a second later, landing like a discarded rag doll, while Doc's body tensed up and then curled in on himself, slowly lifting to a seated position.

Wash couldn't barely see out of his one eye, but he still tried to lunge at the AI. His arm swung out to catch O'Malley in the face, but Wash was suddenly airborne. He hit the ground hard. He coughed and pushed himself onto his back, knowing he was exposed.

"Son…of a bitch," he said, wheezing at the abuse on his lungs.

When he finally managed to blink the blood out of his eyes, he saw O'Malley standing up slowly, legs having been the thing to catapult the ex-Freelancer aside. Whatever was hindering the AI physically still didn't mask the fact he was stronger than the average human.

" _This is_ mine," O'Malley hissed, one hand shaking violently as he reached for the other man. Despite the shakes, O'Malley sounded far too in control of himself. " _You have proven to be quite the thorn in my side, Washington. I'll just have to kill you before we have a repeat._ "

Wash brought his own boot up just in time to block the devastating stomp that was aimed at his chest. Spots in his eyes prevented him from rolling away far enough to avoid another sharp kick in between the armor creases. O'Malley kicked him again; Wash grabbed the foot and yanked him straight down.

The purple knee slammed into his arm and gave O'Malley the change to slam his closed fist straight into Wash's nose. Pain blinded him for a second too long. He saw the blur of a purple fist haul back with the intent to hit him again.

And then, the fist halted in mid-swing. Wash blinked; everything felt like it was on a delay.

"Stop, wait, don't! O'Malley—!" Doc started to said, before being cut off by his own twisted voice. " _Be silent!_ "

Wash felt just a glimmer of hope ignite. "Fight him, Doc!" he shouted, trying to wrench his arm free. "He's just a machine. I know it's hard, but try!"

"I don't like fighting—," Doc meant to say, but his head whipped to the other side. " _Shut up!_ "

Finally, he yanked his arm out from under O'Malley, knocking the AI off balance. Wash hurled himself upright and his fingers scrambled blindly for the edge of the purple helmet. O'Malley snarled something ugly, but Wash could barely hear it over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.

Just as he managed to grab hold of O'Malley's throat—and O'Malley sank his fingers deep enough to his cheek to probably scratch open—their fight was rudely interrupted by the sound of a gun's safety sliding off.

Wash turned slowly, hear pounding, as he saw a UNSC survivor standing there with his rifle pointed them. He looked better than the other one had. Especially with the gun in his hands. Even O'Malley had frozen, the unexpected guest to their little scuffle deflating the mood somewhat.

"Freeze!" the battered solder shouted. "I will shoot you—!"

Wash opened his mouth to speak, but the half-sarcastic plea building his throat to encourage the soldier was cut off rudely when the soldier's face exploded in a spray of buckshot.

**0000**

While a shotgun failed to be useful most times on a battlefield where they engaged long-range enemies, Tucker had to admit Sarge had a way with the weapon when the time was right.

"That felt refreshing and proper!" Sarge declared as the last UNSC soldier fell over, dead, pumping the shotgun and expelling the used cartridge.

"That felt like _guaranteed court martial_ ," Simmons replied in a dull voice. He pointed out past the corpse. "There they are!"

Tucker had been more or less willing to follow Church and Sarge's insistence that they hunt the surviving UNSC soldiers down. It wasn't like killing people was suddenly cool or anything, but he was not in the mood to fuck around. He had hoped, however, the crash had killed most of them. They had swarmed the downed craft as quickly as they could. They hadn't had to shoot the pilot, who had been killed in the crash. What had concerned them was the fact that there had been four bodies in the initial landing, but the other three were missing.

That led them to the northern banks where they found one of the soldiers poised to shoot Wash and O'Malley; Sarge promptly destroyed him with great prejudice. It was mildly disturbing, but Tucker wasn't really surprised by it at that point. He was more surprised to see another dead UNSC agent further ahead. He _wasn't_ surprised to see both Wash and O'Malley on the ground, the latter rapidly backing up on his hands and knees. Both were alive, which was a bonus, but Wash…

"Wash!" Tucker exclaimed, pushing past the Reds. "Holy shit, you look…wow, what the fuck happened?"

Wash looked like O'Malley had broken his nose and maybe more of his face. He was drenched in blood, though to be fair, some of it was the UNSC guy's, courtesy of the shotgun. Even past the blood, however, Tucker could see Wash was more unhinged than ever. The initial anger at the ex-Freelancer bailing on them with the rocket launcher was replaced by shock.

"S-shoot him," Wash said, almost ignoring the UNSC soldier's demise. He stood up, wavering to the side dramatically, pointing at O'Malley. "Shoot him now!"

Nobody moved. "Wash, hold up, man!" Tucker said, alarmed. He looked between O'Malley and Wash quickly. "What the fuck is going on?"

"O'Malley, what have you done?" Ada asked, in a breathless, horrified way, as she eyed them both up. Delta said nothing, just observing.

" _What have_ I _done? !_ " O'Malley asked, incensed. He stood up slowly, seemingly focused solely on Wash. " _This pathetic excuse for a Freelancer assaulted me!_ "

"It's a sign of the times that I actually sort of can believe that," Tucker said, snorting. He peered closer at his friend, who was standing there like a fucking zombie. "Wash, you are fucked up, man. Like, seriously, is your eye bleeding—?"

Everyone jumped—Simmons and Ada both did a girly little yelp thing—when a single gunshot rang out over the strangely silent valley. Tucker whirled around, hand bringing up his sword, but for once, there wasn't cause for alarm. Well, not really.

Iowa had apparently found the missing fourth guy, from what it looked like at that distance. He had been standing thirty meters away behind another boulder, gun pointed downwards. Tucker saw a glint of yellow metal. He assumed it was armor.

Judging the fact Iowa had holstered his weapon and was walking slowly back over to their group, Tucker assumed the armor had done little in the end and there were no more living hostiles to worry about. That was a relief. It was still sort of anxiety-inducing to watch the casual killing that ex-Freelancers engaged in, however.

"You got the last one?" Sarge called out. His voice betrayed the tension visible in everyone else.

"Affirmative," Iowa replied, not sounding affected at all.

"Iowa!" Ada said, moving over to greet him. She stopped short, eyes going all over him. "You…oh."

"Hey, Liv," Iowa said, sounding a bit more cheerful. He seemed to take in her appearance as well. "You okay?"

Ada's eyes were tightened. "…are you all right?" she asked, voice barely carrying.

"Yeah. Just peachy," the ex-Freelancer said, tense again. He shrugged back toward the man he had just killed, who Tucker was beginning to suspect was another Freelancer from the armor. "Had to take care of some unfinished business."

"Are they all dead?" Simmons asked.

"Now they are," Iowa said. He nodded toward the soldier. "Good work with the rocket, Simmons."

Simmons and Grif looked at each other. "Uh, thanks."

"And so we're back to creepy-crazy, homicidal Freelancers," Church grumbled. "Great."

"Like when Wash killed the purple girl one," Caboose offered.

"I'm impressed," Church said, sounding totally not. "You remembered a detail."

"She spat fire at us and turned into a pterodactyl," Caboose continued, speaking to the timid little Zeta.

"Ah, there it is."

"You're bleeding," Ada said, still focused on Iowa. She pointed at Iowa's side, where there was some indication of injury.

The silver-armored soldier shrugged. "Yeah, well, it could have been worse," he said, eyes going to the side. Tucker followed it and saw Donut was also back with them—or rather, Sigma was. Interesting.

"Hey," Grif suddenly interrupted. "Are we all actually alive?"

Everyone paused.

"Um… holy shit," Tucker said, glancing around. He did a quick count of heads. "One, two… six… whoa! I think… we are? Even the AI thing?" He looked back at Sigma, who was holding the oblong container that housed the other AIs.

Simmons seemed shocked. "How the fuck did we escape with only a few scrapes?" he asked.

"Who cares? !" Tucker said, laughing. "High fives, bitches, the losers win again—!"

"Get. Out."

The menacing, low and somewhat crazy demand sort of sent everything back into that tense dark cloud again. Tucker turned and saw Wash was still staring O'Malley down and the AI was still coiled up like he was about to bolt under the attention. Wash looked _murderous_. Tucker opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't beginning to think of anything that could help.

"Get out of Doc," the ex-Freelancer said, blood on his teeth as he wheezed out the command. He sounded like someone had kneed him right in the lungs.

" _Or what, you'll shoot me?_ " O'Malley taunted. He might have looked like shit, but his snark seemed unscathed by battle. He gave the soldier a mocking wave. " _Give it up, Washington. This body is_ mine _._ "

"Omega…" Ada began, looking torn. She fearfully inched closer to him, her eyes pinned to Wash's enraged form. "Please, calm down, Agent Washington…"

Her pleas weren't even remotely effective this time. Wash took a step forward, wavering on his feet dangerously, pointing aggressively at O'Malley.

"This isn't fucking right!" he said, starting to tremble. "You don't know…you don't know what it's like to have them inside your head. Controlling you. _Destroying_ your mind." He ran a furious hand through his blood-soaked hair and his eyes grew mad. "Get out of him!"

"Wash! Calm down, dude!" Tucker exclaimed. He barely stopped Wash from moving forward, but immediately let him go; his anger was almost tangible and it was unsettling. "We need to figure out what we're doing before we're overrun again!"

"We need to focus on surviving," Iowa added, stepping forward. He lifted a hand, the gesture making Wash flinch. "Calm down, Washington. We can sort out all our other problems once we're clear of getting mowed down by any additional aerial fire."

Eyes brighter than ever, Wash looked like he could barely breathe. "You…" he tried to say, words failing.

Doc was still apparently coherent, as always, underneath O'Malley control. "Wash?" the medic began, whining voice just a bit more winded than usual. "Listen, I know it doesn't seem like…well, I mean, it's not very nice." O'Malley suddenly flared up. " _Shut up!_ " Without breaking a beat, Doc continued, even going as far as raising a weak hand as some sort of proof. "But! I'm not…going nuts? I don't think I am, anyway."

Was that supposed to be a _comfort_? The declaration thrust a sour, breathless silence over them. Wash just kept staring at Doc with a horrible, betrayed expression. Tucker had never seen the ex-Freelancer look so…beaten. The blood only made it worse.

"We have to _move_ , Wash," Tucker said quietly, daring to reach out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Let it go, dude."

Wash kept shaking; he hardly blinked. O'Malley—or maybe it really was Doc—didn't look away either, but he slowly backed away to sit by a rock, tensed up. It was sort of a silent truce, which was a surprising gesture coming from that lunatic. Ada moved back as well, about halfway, also watching Wash carefully. For a long tense moment, Tucker wasn't sure Wash had even heard him.

Then, with almost a twitch under his light grip, Wash's shoulder moved. He moved so slow, it almost seemed like he was in a different frame of time all together. Perhaps it was just exhaustion or being as beat up as he looked, but Wash finally gave in and sat down, accepting that truce. Tucker stood back a little to give him room and waited for another outburst. Instead, Wash just looked like someone had murdered his entire family in front of him; he stared out at nothing with a glare fit to kill. It was more than enough to completely freak Tucker out.

The overwhelming feeling of _Why me?_ never quite left him as he watched his friend. It crept up over him like a cold shadow.

Deciding it was time to continue the conversation, Iowa stepped forward, filling the tense void. He lifted his visor when all eyes fell to him.

"They know we're here. They knew where to find us. The Director apparently knew about you all. Probably didn't see a point in reporting your existence yet, since you'd only be more witnesses against his previous actions," he said. He made a derisive sound. "But now, in light of this, you're officially on the shit list."

"Fuck!" Grif exclaimed before falling backwards onto his ass in exhaustion.

"If it makes you feel any better, Oregon confirmed this was an unofficial visit," Iowa said. He reached up and took off his helmet. The battle had left deep tension lines in his face as he rubbed the sweat from his brow. "It'll take the UNSC at least a couple days to realize four of their men are dead."

"Where are we going to go?" Simmons asked, voice strangled. "Where can we hide? !"

"Hide? Are we really going to _hide_?" Tucker asked, a tinge of panic settling into his chest. "Can't we just…I don't know! Do something?"

Like fight it out or go to someone higher up than the douchebags chasing them? This couldn't have been fucking legal or whatever to shoot them up like that. Tucker didn't know anything about army legalities when it came to chasing down their own, but fuck, he couldn't imagine this was okay by people at the very top.

The dead UNSC agent nearby seemed to suggest opposite however. Tucker just stared at it, letting the others talk over him and his thoughts. They were very heavy thoughts.

"Why can't we just wait it out?" Grif asked as everyone seemed to panic at once.

"Oh, sure, and wait for another drop ship to attack? !" Church asked.

"We could rig the sky to explode," Sarge said, sounding suddenly interested. "Or drop a reverse bomb on them!"

"This is serious, sir!" Simmons said, voice cracking. "We can't just declare war on the freaking army!"

Grif made a sharp sound. "So we run! Hide! Change our names and faces!"

"But go _where_? ! This moon is only so big!" Simmons said.

Everyone was talking at once. It was becoming a noisy, hopeless mess.

And suddenly, Tucker just didn't have the patience for being an indecisive coward.

"Outpost 48."

Tucker said it simply, like nailing it to the wall of noise, and somehow it was enough. Everyone stopped to look at him, even the stone-faced Wash. Tucker stared back, feeling more and more like he was being crushed by some invisible force.

"What?" Church asked, sounding surprised.

"Fuck everything. Fuck this fucking army and everyone running it," Tucker said, anger rising over his fear, just barely. "We're leaving, now. I am not going to die just because your fucking creator is fucking insane."

He had heard about various bases in the Blue and Red simulation program while helping the UNSC out in the desert. Outpost 48 was another shit-in-the-wall training base that had been abandoned years ago, back when his crew had been at Blood Gulch. Caboose had mentioned finding Church there when they had met Wash, but the isolation suddenly made the place seem ideal.

"Is that a good place to go?" Ada asked, concerned.

Church flickered. "Um, well, I was there for over a year by myself, before Wash showed up and fucked me over with this Alpha bullshit," he admitted. "It was basically abandoned, so it's probably safe place to go now."

"The records I have about the simulation program confirm that it is in disuse," Delta added, voice a little soothing to hear, oddly enough. "We can assume it is a safe place to use for shelter for the time being. It is nearly two days away, however."

Simmons kept glancing between everyone, practically twitching. "Why run? We can explain this, can't we?" he asked, almost desperate.

"You want to reason with these people after this? After what you just saw happen?" Tucker snapped. He motioned at the crash. "They're going to kill all of us!"

"Then what can we do?" Simmons asked, fearful.

"Run, hide and go underground," Iowa said, crossing his arms against his chest.

Sarge made a low sound. "That's... a tall order," he said stiffly.

"Or..." Wash began.

The blue-and-yellow soldier was still on the ground, shoulders hunched, but when he looked up at them, his eyes were strangely livelier than before. If a death glare could be lively, Tucker amended.

"We fight back," he said, voice hoarse. Tucker frowned.

"Against the army?" Grif asked, sounding almost offended. Sarge laughed incredulously.

"Against the Director," Iowa snapped, apparently jumping onto this line of thinking. Freelancer logic, then. "With him dead, Freelancer is dead. The UNSC doesn't have the resources to hunt us down. We can figure out how to fix the remaining details after Freelancer is out of the picture."

Simmons looked like they had suggested blowing up an orphanage. "Wait, wait, we just jumped from going AWOL to assassination? ! This is nuts!"

"Look—we are literally out of time to argue," Iowa said. He nodded toward Ada and Delta. "We're heading to Outpost 48, if Tucker is right about the location. You're welcome to come with as long as you don't slow us down."

" _You_ brought this here!" Simmons said, outraged.

"And now we're leaving," Iowa said, cold. He loomed over the maroon soldier with an unwavering glare. "Choose how you're going to gamble your life, soldier. With us and the AIs on the run or with the Director."

_What a douche_ , Tucker thought, his stomach churning.

Iowa turned away, herding Ada (and subsequently Delta) over to the side. They went over to Sigma, of all people, talking quickly. They wanted to go back to their shuttle, Tucker heard them say. It'd be quicker, plus they lacked other transport means. They wanted to leave immediately.

Immediately. They had no time to think about this or to plan. He had only expected to have to decide whether or not they'd take in the refugees. Now, they were _all_ refugees. If Iowa and Ada left with the AIs without the Reds or Blues, if the simulation troops needed backup at Valhalla, they'd be down a Freelancer and whatever magic the AIs could provide them.

Tucker tried to do a risk analysis, though he really didn't know the first thing about one of those. Church seemed intent on staying with the Blues (though Tucker didn't know if Ada would let him if they decided to stick it out there in the basin.) O'Malley probably would go with the AI team, though it would suck in a way if he did leave, since they'd be losing a medic, albeit a shitty one. Sigma seemed pretty badass too, but presuming she allowed Donut to return to his team, they'd lose her assistance there.

With Wash pretty much in a personal swirling depression pit again and the rest of the Red and Blues being essentially useless fighters as a default, Tucker suddenly felt horribly exposed.

They… didn't really have much going for them there.

"What do we _do_?" Grif said, agonized. He looked up at their circle as if they had any more clue than he did.

"Are we going with the lady doctor and Ishmael?" Caboose asked, a bit nervous.

"Fuck you and I don't know," Church said, not even looking at other Blue. He hesitated and hovered there just a little less bright. "I…don't know, guys."

Sarge looked uncomfortable standing there, but at least he was listening and not demanding a separate plan for his squad. "Our options are stay here and get shot," he said, frowning. "Or go with them and get shot later."

An interesting consideration. Tucker hated thinking about it.

"This sucks," he murmured, running a hand over his face.

He had led what was left of his team at Sandtrap using mostly luck and a basic sense of what was badass enough to fight off CT and his bullshit mercenaries. But he had never had that many people to direct before, if they'd _let_ him. Having Wash to bully the Reds would help, but Tucker could not imagine their truce being solid enough to keep Sarge from running off somewhere solo or Caboose from doing something stupid like _calling_ the UNSC by accident or something…

"Later _is_ better, though," Grif said, breaking into the silence.

No one could really debate that. In a way, the following silence settled it.

For once, Grif's lazy wisdom seemed to make sense to a lot of them. Tucker sighed quietly and wondered just how they were going to get out of _this_ one.

He looked to the side when he saw Wash finally get to his feet. The ex-Freelancer looked worn, tired and pretty much like shit, but Tucker found some relief in the sharper edges coming back to his friend's face as the soldier picked up the UNSC agent's discarded rifle.

They would deal with the mental breakdowns after they escaped certain death. Or at least, that's what Tucker was counting on.

"Wash?" Simmons asked, the Reds and remaining Blues watching him warily.

The ex-Freelancer looked up at them and Tucker knew that for just a little while longer, he wouldn't have to lead alone.

"We move in thirty," Wash said, words punctuated by the harsh slide of metal of a loading gun. "And we're moving fast."

**End Chapter 11.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the great journey to…well, we'll find out, shall we? (And here's to trying to make sense of RvB's ridiculous canon geography!)
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -There's nothing in canon to suggest the AIs can't possess ordinary, non-Freelancer armor, but supposedly the Freelancer (and simulation) armor has a special slot for an AI carrier unit as a standard. I would imagine that the UNSC armor at least has a helmet radio, however. I will be getting into the "science" of the jump-capable AIs eventually and will get back to answer why O'Malley could take over the UNSC soldier's body.  
> -But in all seriousness, the "science" of a jumping AI is fucking ridiculous, but I guess that's the nature of Red vs. Blue. Eh. It works for me here.  
> -Is it just me who's amused that Tucker was the only Red/Blue who was "upgraded" to non-simulation base duties post-Blood Gulch? He definitely is one of the only coherent soldiers among them. I play off that fact a lot here, clearly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Important** : Okay! So I'm almost done my last few days of undergrad (wooo!), so please pardon my absence. I've gotten a bit of work done for the story, plot-wise, which was a mistake since I finally got around to watching Season 11. So many Wash-feels, guys. We're still lacking a buffer of chapters, but once I'm done final projects and exams in three weeks, I hope to get to writing more so we won't have these pauses any more. Sorry again and thanks for being patient!
> 
> Also, fuck you, Season 11, for making me sort-of-ship Tucker/Wash. This wasn't on my agenda.
> 
> Today, enjoy a really long chapter full of some talking, angst and a surprise visitor!
> 
> **Warnings** : implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

**Outpost 17-A  
13:52**

Coming up with AWOL plans on the fly seemed disturbingly too simple for Washington's tastes.

"Here's the plan, so listen up!" he shouted, before the Reds and Blues scattered in a state of panic. He had only had a few minutes to come up with a solution that wasn't completely crazy. It still wasn't the sanest or smartest plan, but he was hoping that Iowa would back him up. "Half of us will go in the Warthog and the other half will go in the shuttle. This ship's not meant for low altitude flights, so the flight crew will go ahead and then circle back to just outside the Outpost. I'll be directing the ground crew. Church, can you go with the shuttle to direct your team to the base?"

The white AI flickered, clearly emulating a scowl. "Ugh, _fine_."

"I wanna fly in the ship!" Caboose immediately called out, excited.

"This isn't a vacation, Caboose," Simmons sighed, frazzled, as he helped wrap bandages around Sarge's right shoulder. The older man was in a moderate amount of pain, so at least he wasn't interrupting as much.

"Space! Let's go to the space!"

"Dear God, I _so_ did not miss this," Church muttered.

"Spaaaace!"

" _I can only imagine how you have all survived Freelancer this long_ ," Sigma drawled. Her barely-there patience was visibly draining.

Wash barely managed not to roll his eyes. "Iowa, I take it you can fly the ship just fine?" he asked, turning to the other Freelancer, who had seemed to agree with his announced plan.

"Yessir, I can," Iowa said, a little-too-cheeky as Dr. Livingston helped him to attach the AI unit to his back for travel.

Wash would have to take his word for it. "Tucker and Grif, go with the shuttle," he said, looking to each soldier specifically to make sure they were listening. "I want you to learn the controls as you go."

Tucker, as expected, was on the defensive. "Uh, why?"

"Just in case you need to fly it, idiot," Wash snapped. "We can't have only one pilot." He knew the basics of flight, but a shuttle was different than a Pelican. He had to be on the ground anyway this time, helping the Warthog team. There was no way he was letting them split up without at least one capable soldier per squad.

"Are we getting another ship?" Doc asked, tilting his head. Wash bit back a wave of nausea at the sound of his normal voice.

"Maybe," he said, impatiently turning to face the others. "Now, divide up and let's move."

"All this runnin' and no fightin'," Sarge grumbled.

"Sir," Simmons began, sighing again, "maybe we should just take this as a sign its time to move onto the next battle?"

" _Hmph_."

Tucker still didn't look happy. "How long is it gonna take to get to this place?" he asked.

"Probably around three hours, give or take," Church answered. He flickered. "Aw, cool! I got my own version of _MapQuest_!"

"The shuttle will likely get there before us, so hide out in the cliffs," Wash said, interrupting him.

Iowa nodded. "The priority will be to destroy the shuttle promptly before it can be tracked. We'll land about a mile from the base. We'll walk the rest of the way."

"Ughhh, can I not be on the walking team?" Griff immediately said, making a face of disgust.

"Grif, just shut up," Simmons said, irritable. They immediately started to bicker until both Wash and Church yelled at them to get moving.

Plans were made quickly, much to Wash's relief. Wash, Simmons, Sarge, Donut and Caboose wound up taking the Warthog. Sigma had finally relinquished possession of Donut in order to return to the AI unit at Livingston's insistence. Iowa, Livingston, Doc (and O'Malley), Tucker and Grif would be on the shuttle, along with the AIs and Church (who was still sticking around in Tucker's suit). Wash didn't like having his team split up or the fact he didn't have any bargaining chips in his squad (having all the AIs somewhere other than where he was _was_ sort of comforting, however). He knew there wasn't time to debate it.

That's why he was mildly surprised when Dr. Livingston moved over to the Blues and peered nervously up at Caboose, who was oblivious to the attention at first. The psychologist then looked over at the green AI hovering at her shoulder.

"Delta?" she asked.

The AI flickered briefly. "Yes, Ada?"

"Will you please accompanying Caboose for the trip?" she asked, surprising everyone within earshot. Wash immediately perked up, both in wariness and confusion.

Delta didn't seem too certain either. Or pleased.

"…I do not understand," he said at length, almost reluctantly speaking.

Livingston frowned. "They may need your help. You know the details about the base and can connect the UNSC database remotely, right?"

There was a long pause where Delta seemed to either be processing her logic or was trying to find a way to disagree with it.

"…yes," he finally admitted. "I understand."

Livingston nodded; she seemed to notice his tension and plowed ahead anyway. At least she was practical. "Caboose…" she began, looking at the confused Blue, before she turned back to the closest Freelancer. "Agent Washington, do you agree with this?"

It was surprising she was asking him, but then again, she wasn't the usual idiot he was used to dealing with. She at least had had some actual military experience, even as a civilian doctor. Still, having her turn to him for confirmation was surprising.

He didn't like the idea of AIs being around him or his men, but it could have been worse. Caboose seemed impervious to the negative side effects of hosting an AI and he seemed to legitimately like Delta and Zeta, which was understandable since they were the mild ones.

Also, the notion of having at least one potential bargaining chip in his reach was mildly comforting. He wondered if Livingston had suggested this for that reason. Probably not. If she had thought of it ahead of time as a peace offering, she was even smarter than he had first thought.

"…Fine," he said. He crossed his arms. "I never had a problem with Delta anyway."

Delta was still flickering faintly with displeasure, but he didn't argue with Livingston. "I am pleased to hear that, Agent Washington," the AI said evenly. He suddenly appeared closer to the Blue solider in front of Livingston. "Hello, Caboose."

Caboose immediately cheered up. "Green man!"

Livingston peered at the much-taller soldier. "Are you all right letting Delta into your suit, Private Caboose?" she asked, speaking carefully. "It would be the same as when Zeta was there with you."

"Sure! I like friends!" Caboose immediately said, oblivious as always. He was practically vibrating. "Can Zeta stay, too?"

The psychologist hesitated and her eyes went back toward the AI containment unit currently attached to Iowa's back. "I'm sorry, Caboose," Livingston said, turning back to him with a sympathetic smile. "We're going on a rough trip. You can only take one of the AIs with you for now."

Maybe she _was_ that smart. Wash frowned deeply when no one was looking.

Caboose wilted. "Awww."

"We'll meet up soon," the psychologist proceeded to say quickly. "You and Zeta can join up once we're at the new base."

As expected, Caboose immediately cheered. "Yaaay!" Wash rolled his eyes.

"Simple fellow, isn't he?" Iowa murmured as Livingston went about helping Delta move into Caboose's armor.

Wash snorted. "On his good days, sure, let's call it that."

All at once, Wash felt a metaphorical shadow encroach on his space. He only then realized how close Iowa had drifted as they watched their mutual comrades get ready to leave.

"Hey," Iowa said, feigning a nonchalant tone.

Wash did his best not to visibly tense up. "Yeah?"

"We got a minute to chat while the kids pack, don't we?" Iowa said, eyes going back toward Blue base. Hint hint.

He was actually surprised that it had taken them this long to get to this point. Wash knew it had been a long time coming. "…yeah," he agreed. He turned and motioned for the other ex-Freelancer to follow him. "This way."

The others would be distracted for at least twenty minutes as the Reds ran to get their supplies and get the battered Warthog trip-ready. Wash had a feeling Livingston would have expected this and would do her best to keep them busy. Wash hoped there wouldn't be any interruptions.

This had been a long time coming, after all.

He led Iowa to the first room they found—a poor excuse for a rec room with no real furniture and now sporting a cracked wall from the battery they had just received from the Pelican attack. Iowa peered around with polite curiosity and seemed bizarrely at ease. Wash proceeded to sit down on top of the crate they had used for a table and watched the other soldier, waiting for the debriefing to start.

"I guess it's time we had our side of the conversation, hmm?" Iowa asked, smiling. He moved and stood opposite of the older soldier. He didn't look nearly as troubled as Wash felt.

The casual attitude only made Wash tenser. He knew that Iowa _most likely_ wouldn't betray them now. It was also unlikely that he'd attack or try to kill Wash either. Still. An ex-Freelancer was an ex-Freelancer. Wash would know.

"I suppose it's overdue," Wash said. He glanced over the other man carefully. " _Iowa_ , huh? When did you join?"

He knew next to nothing about the other soldier. He hadn't heard of the agent before, even during the program, but that wasn't too odd. Those at the top were isolated from the bottom rungs and newcomers. Not knowing about his allies was just as bad as not knowing anything about his enemies.

Iowa seemed undisturbed by the inquiry. "About seven months after you, if my guess is right. Never got high up there in the ranks. You were already top-chart by the time I got through basic."

Wash blinked. "Basic training?" Iowa was probably younger than him, but not _that_ much younger. There was no way Freelancer would have picked a rookie from the bottom of the UNSC's supply of soldiers, anyway. Not unless there was more to the guy than what Wash had already seen.

Iowa laughed at his question. "Well, _Freelancer_ basic training. I was in the 47th before, doing recon mostly. Got scouted by the Counselor four years into my last deployment," he admitted. "Musta been my pretty looks."

Recon work. Probably got picked to do the ground work on missions before higher ranked teams went in. Iowa was a talker, but he was serious enough that Wash could imagine him being a decent soldier. He could at least aim.

He also vividly remembered the outcome of their recent battle. Iowa had finished off the remaining UNSC soldiers and the half-dead Agent Oregon. A killer, then. He supposed having one more on their side was beneficial, considering most of the Reds and Blues were reluctant to actually do real harm to other people. Sarge's occasional bouts of insanity didn't count.

Wash also supposed he was a paranoid bastard and Iowa's training could also be a dangerous thing to ignore.

Whether or not he could tell he was being scrutinized, Iowa continued to appear nonchalant. He sighed and relaxed further against the opposing wall. He tilted his head at the older soldier.

"What're we gonna do about this, Washington?" he asked, almost conversationally.

"You and your girlfriend really don't have any plans?" Wash asked, crossing his arms. He tried to mimic the nonchalant-ness, but he knew that his acting had always been subpar. Iowa at least didn't comment on it.

"No long-term ones," Iowa said. He suddenly narrowed his eyes, a faint warning in his expression for the first time. "And have a bit of respect. She's scared outta her damn mind trying to be a freaking hero to those things."

Wash had little sympathy. He didn't push it, however. "This is why I hate medical," he muttered, almost as an excuse. He looked back out the door with a scowl. "They're all more trouble than they're worth, especially the closer you are to the field."

"And here I thought you did like them," Iowa said lightly.

Wash turned and glared at the other man, who merely stared back, not intimidated.

His impatience was at least noticed. Iowa cleared his throat and sat up properly.

"We need to get low and fast," he said, more serious than before. "This moon's not that big. If we can get to a UNSC base, we can grab another shuttle. They'll be tracking this one."

"Ditch it at the next place we find transport," Wash surmised.

"Exactly." Iowa smiled wryly. "Once we're off-planet, well, sky's the limit, right?"

Wash snorted. "Wrong. If we keep stealing shuttles from the military, we're still too obvious," he said, though he was vaguely certain Iowa already knew this. "Grabbing a ride off Nexus IV in a civilian vessel's the best shot we have."

"I like the way you think," Iowa said, smirking again.

That attitude wasn't quite annoying, but it was beginning to stand out more and more to Wash's paranoia. "You're awfully calm, Iowa," he said, surprising the other soldier.

Iowa shrugged. "It's a survival mechanism. My stomach's all a-flutter, believe me," he said. He paused and then gave Wash a strange look. "We may have some trouble getting a ship big enough."

"Big enough?" Wash repeated, now surprised himself.

"We have ten bodies to fit, not including our ghostly-hitchhikers or AI cargo units," Iowa said, pointing vaguely out the door and at the yard. He paused again and looked uncertain. "Unless you wanna split your guys up on different ships?"

Wash didn't know what his face looked like, but he knew it must have been far too exposed. He looked out at the door, but he could feel Iowa's heavy stare on him. The silence dragged out for just a second too long.

"…you can't possibly expect them not to come with us," Iowa said, breaking it with a careful approach. "Unless you're gonna ditch us or them half-way through this and wait for the UNSC to catch up."

He didn't need to hear that; he already knew that. He hadn't thought about it explicitly like that, but it had been on the back of his mind. All of those men outside the base, fumbling around in fear and uncertainty, were very much on his mind.

There were few options for them. Part of Wash wanted to blame Iowa and Livingston for ruining their hiding spot. Part of Wash also knew that with Freelancer, this had all just been inevitable. If Freelancer had been waiting to get their Director out of jail and back into power, the Reds and Blues had always been on the target list. Now…

There was no other way: either they escaped along with the AIs to split up later under safer conditions…or they stayed behind to await the UNSC or Freelancer.

He wondered if the Reds and Blues even knew what AWOL meant. Sarge definitely wouldn't be able to comprehend it. The others…they definitely wouldn't understand the consequences. Maybe Tucker and Simmons would. As Tucker might say, it was all above their pay grade.

It was also incredibly unfair to them. He wondered if they could comprehend that either.

Reluctantly, Wash looked back over at Iowa, who was still watching him.

"I owe them," Wash said, forcing himself not to stumble over the words. "More…than I want to admit."

"They're your team," Iowa said, almost too sympathetic. It made Wash's skin crawl, though he didn't know why.

He also didn't know why he was saying any of it, at all.

"I lost everyone. Carolina, C.T., York…North," he said, trying to force the words out before they actually meant something. He was trying to justify something, but the more he spoke, the less he understood his own intentions. "I lost them all at once. Watched them tear each other to pieces. I even…had to kill a few of them myself."

Iowa frowned. "Don't blame yourself for the shit dumped on us. The Project self-destructed and took us all—you frontrunners even more than the new guys like me—with it."

"I don't. I know," Wash said, frustrated. He didn't know why he was getting so worked up over this. His eyes went to the door again. "These men have suffered enough because of me and the Director. They're not even real soldiers. They never should have been involved in any of this."

"But they are," Iowa said.

It shouldn't have been that big of an impact to hear it, but somehow, being spoken out loud made it seem far more important.

Wash didn't know what to do. He knew what he wanted, however. He could only hope it was at least partially feasible.

No matter how bitter it made him feel.

"If the axe falls, I want them out," he said, rigidly controlling his expression and tone. "I can get them to help us. I'll make sure they pull their own weight and don't slow us down, but if we get caught, we forced them to help."

He could just imagine Tucker's reaction to that plan. It was a shame the teal soldier didn't have a choice in it.

"They are just idiots," Iowa said, not entirely convincing. "They should be fine."

Wash scowled back at him. "They don't deserve the shit we're going to get." He sat forward, making sure the other soldier was paying attention. "I need you to back me on this. Swear to it _now_."

Iowa held his hands up in compliance. "I promise, they're pawns the moment our backs are at the walls." Just like his doctor-girlfriend would be, but that was unspoken. "But you need to be prepared for the UNSC not to give a shit."

Promising to get them out alive was an empty gesture. No one could be promised something like that. Iowa would swear up and down he'd cover for them, but he couldn't promise they'd still be saved by that plan. Wash couldn't even promise them that.

"I am," he said. He closed his eyes and tried to push the anxiety out of mind. It didn't work. "I'm not that far gone that I can't hope, though."

"Fair enough," Iowa said, shrugging. He leaned back against the wall and suddenly, his eyes narrowed. "I have a question for you, Wash."

A defensive tension returned to his limbs. "Yeah?"

"When you faked your death at Sidewinder," Iowa began, casual, "you took Church's old armor, didn't you?"

"Yeah?"

"And his name on the roster?"

"Yea…"

Wash stopped.

Oh.

Iowa continued to watch him, eyes unmoved.

"This could be a problem for you, Washington," he said, unnecessarily.

If they were caught by the UNSC, they'd be interrogated. His identity could get him jailed for different reasons than the rest of the simulation troopers.

But more concerning was a basic fact that Wash had missed since Sidewinder months ago: Leonard Church was a marked name. Hiding behind it only protected them due to the total disarray of the UNSC and Freelancer armies up until that point. If he tried to use that alias now, it was a neon sign to the Director as to where the AWOL soldiers were. The disguise was now a great liability.

"Yeah," Wash said, clearing his throat. "Yeah, I know."

Church would probably laugh over this once he found out.

"If we go down, you can't hide behind that name. The UNSC will know about it by then. Freelancer will out you for sure now," Iowa continued. He shrugged. "If you had picked a different name, maybe we could have gotten you out of the line of fire the same way as the Reds and Blues, but…"

"No," Wash said, his bluntness surprising the other ex-Freelancer. "I'm not backing out this time."

Iowa arched an eyebrow. "Not even to live to fight another day?"

That made Wash laugh; the sound choked in his throat. "Fight another day? Iowa, I've been dragging this same fight out for nearly a decade now," he said. He ran a hand over his face and felt his eyes burning. "I'm tired. I am so, so tired."

Did he want to roll over and die? No. But the idea that he had to keep digging and digging to stay alive seemed like a whole new level to his current Hell. He had to keep his team alive. He had to make sure they got out of both their old and new messes in one piece. He didn't…he didn't have the luxury to worry about how visible he was.

He couldn't afford to worry about a goddamn name when they already had a sniper's dot on the back of their heads.

When he looked up, Iowa was watching him with that same careful expression. There wasn't any judgment to be found there, but Wash still felt a wave of irritation hit him. Thankfully, Iowa seemed intelligent enough to stand back properly and return to business.

"Do we have a compromise then?" he asked, grinning.

With that, he had agreed to Wash's terms. Iowa was another Freelancer, but Wash could only hope their mutual desperation meant they could trust each other enough to at least get off that deathtrap of a moon.

Hoping for anything brought an ill taste to his mouth, but Wash knew he didn't have the time to second guess his actions. He just tried to believe in his luck for the first time in years.

"Yeah," he said. "We do."

"Good," Iowa said, seemingly pleased. He held out his hand—just as scarred and calloused as Wash's own when not wearing gloves—and waited. "It's an honor to be working with you, Agent Washington."

Judging by his tone and smile, he probably meant it.

Wash sort of wished he didn't.

"Huh," he said. He smiled back depreciatively and grasped the offered hand in a painful shake. "We need less honor and more luck, Iowa. But here's to doing business with you."

_Here's to keeping our respective idiots alive._

**0000**

**Outpost 48  
16:59**

Outpost 48 was situated south of their location, running up along the sea and cliffs. It had a warmer climate than Valhalla. Ada marveled at both the beauty of the moon they were on and also its chaotic geography. Somehow, that chaos almost seemed perfectly matched for the equally chaotic events that occurred on its surface.

She stood on one of the outcroppings of boulders they had settled amongst along one of the sandy cliffs. It overlooked the sea, but most of her comrades were facing the opposite way, toward where the isolated Blue base was located. The Red base had apparently been destroyed ages ago, leaving the Blue base mostly in ruin and one of the Project's abandoned simulation locations. It made sense that the Director would have placed Church there after Blood Gulch's location had been compromised.

They wouldn't move in toward the base until the team moving in the Warthog arrived. Ada understood the logic behind that; they had no idea if the base was truly empty. Church lacked any real skills to check and O'Malley wasn't interested in investigating it on his own. Waiting for the other half of their squad would give them, if anything, decent back up in case they ran into trouble. Whether that would matter in a real altercation remained to be seen.

Ada also missed Delta's reassurances on the situation, but she, unlike most of her companions, knew how to be patient.

They were all mostly sullen and quiet as they waited, with minutes turning into a half hour and then forty minutes since they climbed up there. Grif has collapsed (mostly in protest, though he _was_ horribly out of shape for a soldier) in the shade and Tucker refused to sit still. It was going to be dusk in an hour or two, so they didn't have much time to wait, unless they wanted to risk a night assault on the base.

"Whew!" Iowa said, sitting down on a rock. He had placed the AI containment unit on the side closest to Ada. "It is hot out here! And to think, there was snow at Valhalla."

"This moon certainly has unique geographical features," Ada acknowledged. It was very muggy. She was tempted to put her helmet back on for the air filter alone, but she didn't like feeling so enclosed either.

Tucker was still incredibly agitated; he had yet to remove his helmet. "Yeah, sure, whatever," he said. "Where is everybody else?"

"We did get here quicker than I thought," Iowa said, shrugging. He, as usual, seemed unperturbed by their situation. As long as there weren't guns firing, he seemed at ease even amongst strangers. Ada was jealous of that skill. "Give it another hour. We'll move into the base once we have our group in order."

"Joy," Church said, bitterly as he floated next to Tucker. "I hated this place."

"You hate everything," Grif accused from the ground.

"Shut up, I hate you, too."

Movement to the side of rocks that led down to the valley caught Ada's eye. She frowned when she saw their purple companion attempting to leave, going God-knew-where.

"O'Malley," she said, reigning in her irritation, "where are you going?"

At her voice, the AI cringed and whipped around. He was undoubtedly glaring at her and seemed angry. At least that was still normal.

" _Where I please to, woman!_ " O'Malley snapped. He abruptly relaxed his stance. "Geez, O'Malley, there's no need to be so rude," Doc said. O'Malley proceeded to take control back, shoulders going stiff. " _Oh, shut up._ "

Iowa gave them both an unimpressed look. "Stay up here. If the base is inhabited, you don't want to run into soldiers alone, do you?"

" _Oh, spare me the pretentious soldier routine, Iowa_ ," O'Malley sneered.

"God, I wish I could punch computer code in the face."

Ada sighed and stared back out at the glimmer of blue ocean she could see from their height. "Jason, just ignore him. He's baiting you." She felt like she was babysitting most of the time anymore.

"Yeah, well, maybe he should see what landing a hook feels like," Iowa muttered. Ada sighed at his sullenness. Yes, definitely babysitting.

Before O'Malley could reply (and judging by the hiss he made and how he took a step closer to the group, it was likely he would fall for Iowa's own baiting), Tucker launched to his feet.

"Hey, there they are!" he said, pointing out to their western side.

Ada followed everyone else's example and jumped up to her feet to see where he was pointing. Just beyond the edge of the first sharp turn entering the narrow valley of cliffs, she saw a flash of green. The sound of a motor accompanied it, followed by the sound of…

Music? Folk music?

Iowa slid down the rock face, getting to the next level easily. He motioned for the others to follow, but only Ada (with the AIs) and Grif accepted the help from him to get down. O'Malley snarled something and slid down on his own; his host was surprisingly in-shape. Tucker half-fell down attempting the drop alone, but he recovered quickly as he rushed to meet with the rest of his teammates.

"About time you got here," Tucker shouted as they hurried down the rocky path and came face to face with the Warthog.

"Blame Caboose, as usual," Washington snapped, as he irritably motioned for Simmons to turn the vehicle off. The odd music disappeared as well. "I told you before we left that you only get _three_ bathroom breaks."

"There was a lot of water!" Caboose exclaimed.

"At least we didn't drive through it this time," Simmons said, sighing as he helped Sarge off of the back. The older soldier looked more in pain than he had before.

"It is too blue to look at and makes me need to pee more!" Caboose said, sounding upset.

"How the ever living hell did you survive basic?" Iowa asked the Blue, bemused.

" _Jason_ ," Ada said in faint warning as she tucked the AI unit in the passenger seat for safe keeping. Caboose, at least, failed to recognize he was being spoken to. (To be honest, however, she too wondered how Caboose had ever been accepted by the military in any capacity; he was clearly unfit for duty.)

"Sarge needs some painkillers or antibiotics or something," Simmons interrupted, sounding agitated. Sarge made a series of protests over that statement, which were ignored. "We didn't have much to begin with at the bases."

Washington got down from the Warthog and nodded up the incline toward the base. "If they didn't take everything, we'll hopefully find some supplies at the base," he said. He gave Sarge a sweeping look. "Can you walk that distance?"

Sarge, who looked properly offended by the entire conversation, sputtered. "Of course I can walk! What kind of man walks on his arms? Besides Grif's mom, I mean."

Ada looked up at Iowa, who looked back at her with a blank smile.

Huh?

"I never should have let Sister show you guys our family photos," Grif said, complaining. "Most of them were mom's earlier circus acts anyway. She didn't do that all the time."

_Huh?_

"Just let it go," Wash said, noticing Ada and Iowa's expressions. He shrugged at the Reds and Blues' conversation. "You'll get used to it."

"At least we won't be bored," Iowa said, grinning. Ada just sighed.

Wash took point and began to issue simple orders. "Alright, here's the plan: we're going to approach with a small team to investigate the situation. If there's movement, we'll retreat and encircle the base for better visuals before we confirm any sort of assault…"

Ada knew she should have been paying attention to the plans, but she knew she wasn't going to be headed in first anyway as a non-combatant. She was far more interested in moving over to where Caboose was and retrieving his AI unit. He was sad to let "the Green Man" leave, but with a promise to let him and Zeta play later, Ada quickly reinserted the unit into her own suit.

The tiny little light flashed in the corner of her HUD when she put her helmet back on. She smiled, knowing her friend was listening and apparently waiting for her to speak first.

"Delta, how are you? How was the trip?" she asked.

As she somewhat suspected, Delta took her helmet placement as a cue to keep their conversation relatively private. "As expected, it was uneventful," he said, voice right by her ears, but most likely not traveling much further than that. "Agent Washington directed the Reds and Blues promptly following the map information I forwarded to him. It helps that he has already been to this place, approximately two years ago."

"Good."

"Are you all right, Ada?" Delta asked, probably out of habit.

"Of course," Ada said, chuckling. "Though Iowa needs to work on his landing." It was a good thing they were destroying the shuttle later; it had seen better days.

Delta was quiet for a moment. "Did you destroy the shuttle yet?"

"Not yet. Iowa took out the GPS system while we were en route to Nexus, so the worst they can trace is heat and photon emissions, but we still have those couple days head start to destroy it once we get settled here," Ada replied. She imagined they'd need to know if the base was empty first before they went and blew up their fastest transport. "Since, you know, Agent Oregon said the attack hadn't been given by the UNSC in the first place."

There was another pause. "Indeed," Delta said.

There was something off in his tone. Ada considered it and tried to analyze it.

"…do you think otherwise?" she asked, feeling an odd itch in her gut. It reminded her of their sessions back on the _Falcon_ ; she knew what Delta was saying less than what was on his mind.

"Negative," Delta said. "I am merely assessing your trust in Agent Iowa's assessment of the situation."

No matter his neutral tone—Delta's word choices were often his downfall. Ada froze.

"...what?" she asked, startled.

Delta hesitated; she could almost feel it. "What?" he prompted back. The tone betrayed his realization that he had somehow misspoke; he just didn't understand how.

Memories of their later sessions came back. She knew when he was being obtuse on purpose. "That was a…particular comment you just made, Delta," she said, carefully pointing it out. "Why did you ask if I trusted him?"

"I did not ask that," Delta said, a faint shadow of defensiveness rising in his voice. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of their latter arguments during sessions. Ada didn't like it. "I merely said I was assessing the level of trust you particularly have in his assessment of the situation."

Something ill began to settle in Ada's gut. "...any reason why?" she asked, eyes drifting over to where Iowa was, nodding in agreement to whatever strategy they had come up with.

"I trust you, Ada," Delta said simply. To anyone else, his response seemed clear of deception. Maybe it was. Maybe Ada just couldn't tell anymore.

"Oh." Ada tried to smile, knowing they had to focus on more important things. "Well, keep assessing my judgment, Delta, please. I am afraid I am not trained enough to be making trust decisions like this."

"But if you trust him, there will be no issue for you, regardless of training," Delta said bluntly. "Unless, of course, you distrust your trust in him."

The conversation was suddenly becoming a little unbearable. "...which is what you do," Ada said, without thinking.

It was Delta's turn to be surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You don't like that I trust him," she concluded, going on her hunch. "You distrust him, don't you?"

Delta said nothing. Ada bit her lip and tried to will away that ill feeling. They shouldn't have been talking about this now.

"Any reason why?" she asked, almost out of obligation to hear his thoughts, no matter how it made her feel. "He's helped us so far."

"He is a Freelancer, Ada," Delta said, without any real malice. To him, such statements were merely facts. "While Agent Iowa has provided immense assistance to date in our escape from the UNSC and the Director, I distrust not his intentions but his ability to carry it out without being compromised."

"Why?" Ada asked, startled by his line of thought. Why would he think that now of all times—?

"I know what he did to Omega," Delta said.

Ada felt all the blood drain from her face.

"Ada?" Delta asked, surprised.

Ada couldn't speak.

Far away people were calling her. She knew Delta was observing her in silent apprehension. For the life of her, Ada just wanted to curl up and never have had the conversation to begin with.

"Ada, what's the hold up?" Iowa called, further up the path.

Delta appeared in front of her vision. "Do not allow me to distract you," he said. "I can see your increased vital signs. I apologize for upsetting you."

"I..." Ada could only stare at him in shock. "How did you...?"

How did he find out about what Iowa had done? That's what he meant—wasn't it? That he knew Iowa had been the one to tamper with Xi's unit and ensure Omega was placed inside the damaged unit during the presentation? But…it hadn't been Iowa's intent to go that far. He had only wanted to allow Omega to escape easier.

Did that mean that the AIs thought Iowa had hurt Omega on purpose? If Delta knew this much… if he suspected such foul play… didn't that mean Sigma would have figured it out as well? That her line of thinking would also lead her to conclude Iowa had purposely allowed Omega to be tortured like that?

_Oh, no_ , Ada thought, horrified.

Delta glowed faintly. "I am logic," he said, softly. "It did not take long to figure out, from Agent Iowa's behavior and your aversion to it."

Ada just stared at him. She couldn't… this wasn't…

"You okay, doctor?" Simmons asked, suddenly next to her. When she looked toward Iowa further up the incline, he looked concerned.

She couldn't handle this right now.

"Yes, I'm coming," she said, loudly enough that her voice cracking. She looked back toward the AI in front of her. "Delta, we'll talk later." _Please_.

"If you wish," Delta said, sounding as neutral as ever and that was incredibly painful.

If the trust between Iowa and the AIs was irreparably damaged...

What did that mean about their trust in _her_ , having announced so many times that she trusted in Iowa's help?

_This is a disaster_ , she thought, numbly following after the others as the first team made their approach on the base.

**0000**

Freelancers were paranoid bastards, but Tucker already knew this after years of exposure to their bullshit.

With some of their guys wounded and a lot of their team either useless or non-fighters as a default, they only left Iowa, Wash, Grif and Tucker to make first contact with the supposedly-empty base. Tucker was somewhat pleased to note he was considered a fighter, but he wasn't pleased to have Wash act like they were reenacting Iojima Harbor or whatever. The stealth walk was a bit much for a valley that was dead-quiet other than them.

Church was also along for the march up to the base and was still acting like a prissy teenage girl about the whole thing. When Tucker had asked if he could scan for life signatures, he had gotten a smart remark about "not having enough harddrive space" to store such technology due to Tucker's, ah, collections. They had bickered quietly on the way up, but Tucker had been surprised by a revelation during the argument.

Church was gradually... _not_ arguing against his robot linage. He still sulked whenever someone made a comment, but Tucker couldn't remember the last time Church had said he wasn't an AI.

...Tucker wasn't sure if that was troubling or not yet. Granted, they had more pressing concerns in front of them.

Wash, at point, had gotten within ten meters of the closed gates, but before he could turn around to motion for Iowa and Tucker to move to the sides for additional coverage, they were discovered.

" _HEY_! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

The shout had come out of no where and everyone had jumped. Iowa and Wash immediately backed up with their weapons raised, scanning the empty windows and exposed openings of the base. There was no movement. Tucker's heart was still racing. Grif had nearly fallen backwards in his attempt to find cover.

"I thought you said this place was uninhabited!" Tucker snapped, directing it at Church.

Church also seemed surprised. "Hey, I haven't been here in like two years, asshole!"

"Both of you, shut up," Wash ordered, still keeping his gun pointed up at the base.

Tucker flinched again when the voice came back; this time he could definitely tell it was originating from the watchtower.

"YOU GUYS BETTER NOT GET ANY CLOSER IF YOU'RE NOT, LIKE, ON MY TEAM. I DON'T THINK YOU ARE, SINCE, WELL, YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING BY NOW!"

"Dear God, she's got a set of lungs," Iowa murmured, sounding amused.

He was right on both points: firstly, the chick was loud as all hell, with her voice echoing across the boulder-strewn area. Secondly, it was totally a chick.

"Wait…"

Tucker glanced to the side and was surprised to see Grif standing exposed in the middle of the path. He no longer looked afraid. Instead, the Red appeared…confused.

"SERIOUSLY," the unknown soldier continued from the base, "I'M TOTALLY GONNA CALL THE COPS. STALKING IS TOTALLY NOT COOL! _GET LOST!_ "

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Tucker felt a faint sense of recognition trickle in.

"That voice…" Grif began, almost mirroring everyone else's gradual understanding of the situation.

There was a long pause. In front of them, Wash suddenly and visibly relaxed his aim.

"Oh, my God, no," he said in a hollow voice that stretched into mild horror.

Tucker squinted up at the wall. "Wait a second…isn't that…?"

"What? Who is it?" Iowa asked, sounding seriously out of the loop. He seemed unwilling to put his gun down.

"I'M SERIOUS," the female soldier screamed from the wall, "I'LL CALL THE POLICE!"

Grif looked like he was having a hernia from overthinking. "I know that voice…!"

"THAT'S IT, I'M DIALING!" the person in the base shrieked.

"The military police?" Iowa asked, alarmed.

Wash lowered his rifle completely. "No. That would be too intelligent," he said, sounding like he had swallowed a lemon. "Because that's…"

Grif took two steps forward and literally let his gun drop to the ground.

" _Sister? !_ " he exclaimed.

A yellow head popped out from over the wall. The new soldier tilted her head and then perked up.

"Oh, hey, Grif!" Kaikaina Grif called out. "What're you doing here, big brother?"

" _Fuck_ ," Wash said in summary while the Reds and Blues all over the valley promptly spoke up at once.

 

  
**End** _**Chapter 12** _ **.**   


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, both the smart people and the dumb people have parallel conversations about the future.
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -"Iwojima Harbor" – This is merely Tucker butchering the names of the WWII historical events of Pearl Harbor and the Battle of Iwo Jima.  
> -I remembered you, Sister, even if the canon has not (yet). The irony, tho.  
> -I unfortunately keep forgetting where the hell I put Sigma every five seconds. Ughhh. There are too many characters, guys, this isn't fair. And it's only going to get worse as the story goes…  
> -Before anyone asks: yes, I have actually found a place to put S11 characters (Felix and Locus respectively) but it's not in this story. They'd have cameo roles in the What Comes Next saga, which isn't really a saga, but just one-shots I'm using as excuses to continue the survivors' stories. And yeah, "survivors." You really think everyone's making it outta this? That'd be too nice. ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus! My life's been sort of weird, schedule-wise, as of late, so I cannot promise consistent updates. HOWEVER, I do promise that this story will be finished! It is completely outlined, so I'm not just winging it. :) I hope to get you the finished work sooner rather than later, but I can only ask for your continued patience. You've been great, guys! We've got another 27 chapters to go. We can do it!
> 
> Settling into life on the run, the Reds and Blues discuss how much life sucks and the grown ups talk business.
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

 

The base was absolute shit. Like, there was a massive hole in the front door for one thing. Tucker wasn't entirely sure where Red base was supposed to be, but Iowa had theorized in passing that it might have collapsed into the water a long time before. The entire simulation compound was horrifically under-stocked, dismantled and pretty pathetic. Tucker had served in ridiculous conditions at Blood Gulch before, but also decent conditions (prior to that dick C.T. showing up) at Sandtrap. He knew what a moderately well put together military based should look like and Outpost 48-A was not it.

He hadn't been there when Wash and Caboose had gone to collect Church all those years ago from the abandoned base. He really didn't care about the base or what it looked like. It was a shitty base and it wouldn't do squat to protect them for long.

Wash and Iowa had both agreed—and then promptly went back to ignoring him—and declared that they had to make plans for what came next.

It was obvious that they wouldn't be staying at the base long, despite Grif's complaints of exhaustion and hunger. Dr. Livingston had timidly suggested that they were still ahead of their pursuers, but the ex-Freelancers were firm on the fact that their lead was not going to last. They had to keep moving.

They dismantled the GPS box on the shuttle and Warthog—or whatever it was that Wash rambled about longer than Tucker cared to pay attention. Iowa (in true insane Freelancer fashion) had wanted to blow the entire shuttle up to be double sure of their secrecy, but in the end, they wanted to make sure they actually wanted to stay at the base first. If they needed to make a quick get-away, they still needed transport. Since they were leaving soon, or eventually, it didn't make sense to waste their transportation like that.

So, their only real immediate plan was to bunker down for the night and plan for the next day. Wash and Iowa started up their Serious Business chat immediately after they cleared the base for immediate dangers.

They went off on their own—Iowa, Wash, Dr. Livingston, her AI pet, Sigma (who thankfully hadn't stolen back Donut's body yet) and Sarge (who wasn't invited, but stormed after them anyway, despite Doc calling after him nervously, talking about his injuries needing rest). Church had immediately gone after them, hopping into Sarge's memory unit, telling the rest of the simulation troops that "he'd be right back." Doc was then abruptly re-taken over by O'Malley, who squirreled off into the depths of the base like the true psychopath that he was.

Tucker had seethed quietly, but he didn't make the effort to run after Wash or their new allies, who had all too easily shoved them to the side.

He forced himself to sit down with the other Reds and Blues in front of the Outpost gates. The other _kids_ , he thought darkly. That's what Wash treated them like. It was irritating. Almost incomprehensibly so.

But he said nothing. He just sat there, listened to the Reds and Blues' meaningless chattering, and kept one vague eye out on the Big Kids talking business down the path by the Warthog.

Sister, despite being a total moron like she always had been back in Blood Gulch, seemed to pick up their explanation of events rather easily.

"So, holy crap, you really did get in trouble with the cops!" she said, jaw dropped comically.

Tucker blinked, lounging on the rock he had claimed next to Caboose. "Huh?"

"Wash apparently tracked her down before when she was still at Blood Gulch with Sarge and Lopez," Grif said, grumbling as he fumbled with a ration pack. "She thought he was a cop. Or at least that's what she told me in the last message she sent me, like a year ago."

Looking at each other, Tucker and Simmons both frowned. Tucker could see that happening, at the very least. He wondered why Wash never mentioned it. Grif, he could understand not realizing to share that information.

"…I see," Simmons said, slowly.

Sister was practically—literally—on the edge of her seat. "Are you guys really on the run? Is the mob involved? Are they bringing in Master Chief?"

"Oh, God, I hope not," Simmons said, sounding horrified.

Grif frowned. "Right now, everything's still a bit mixed up. I guess we are on the run, but they don't know we're on the run yet, so…" He shrugged, finally having opened his packet of freeze-dried meat. "No?"

"I just got possessed by this really nice robot lady," Donut added. Tucker rolled his eyes. "And that mean O'Malley guy came back, but I think he's not going to kill us this time?"

"Cool! Man, you guys get to do all the fun stuff!" Sister complained. She threw her hands up in disgust. "I've been moved back and forth for the last two years to all these crappy places. All the dudes were either banging each other or married. It sucked!"

Tucker burst out laughing.

Grif made a choking noise. " _Jesus Christ_ —Sister!" Tucker just continued to laugh.

"What?" Sister asked, glaring at her brother. "The only good time I've had was the one time that really hot red-head in the teal armor stopped by. She was hoooot."

The orange armored man dropped his head into his hands. "Please, shut up."

"Please, continue!" Tucker said, cackling.

Sister rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I got in trouble for some bullshit reasons. It's not my fault if our stupid electric system can't handle the rave amplifiers I brought with me," she said. "They said they were sending me to another Blue base, but this place totally sucks!"

Simmons looked over at the Reds and Blues. "They probably did it to get rid of her. It probably wasn't even official," he said, as if Sister wasn't even there.

"That's really mean," Donut said, making a tsking sound. "They could have at least fixed the place up first!"

"Maybe that's why they haven't sent anybody else or any supplies. Assholes," Sister said, replying to their comments anyway. "At least there wasn't anybody from the other team with me. That woulda sucked."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Tucker said, finally getting a grip over his laughter. He was honestly surprised the female soldier was still alive, abandoned or not. Then again, the Reds and Blues of Blood Gulch seemed strangely immortal.

…And not necessarily in the best way.

Sister looked at her brother, suddenly focused. "Where are you guys gonna go now? If you're on the run?"

Grif and Simmons exchanged a look. "Well, we're thinking about getting off this moon. After that…" Simmons said, scratching the back of his helmet.

"Wash and Iowa are gonna come up with some crazy Freelancer plan probably. Probably gonna get us nearly killed or actually killed," Tucker said, interrupting. He crossed his arms and scowled. "And not tell us anything until it's too late to back out."

"Sounds about right," Donut said, far too cheerfully.

Sister snorted. "Wow. Sucks to be you, I guess."

"You want to come with?" Grif asked, frowning again at his younger sister.

"Ehh, sure. I ain't doing anything around here, that's for sure!" Sister said. She brightened up. "Are we going home?"

"Um…maybe," Grif said. He hesitated. " _You_ probably can, at least."

Tucker purposely didn't look at any of their other comrades at that comment, mainly because Grif was probably right. Sister visibly bristled and grabbed her brother's forearm.

"Not without you! That's why I joined the freaking army, Dex!" she said, upset.

Grif swallowed hard. "Right…"

Tucker rolled his eyes and glanced back down the path. He could see Wash, Iowa, Dr. Whatsherface, a glowing green blob that was probably Delta, and glowing pink blob that was probably Sigma. He wasn't terribly surprised to see Sarge in his line of sight, but it was surprising to see the Red stomping back towards the seated Reds and Blues.

Kicked out of the Grown Up Meeting, then. Tucker snorted. He should have argued he could handle the big sit down, dealing with lunatics and the madness Freelancer continually brought to them. He didn't like the fact that he was the more competent of the Blues and Reds and he was still ignored in the plan-making.

Then again, he didn't really want to be involved. He was sick of listening to the doom and gloom from Wash and he was sick of being talked down to overall by their ex-Freelancer guests.

Maybe he was sulking. Whatever. He thought he deserved the opportunity to glare daggers at Wash's back instead of having to listen to stupid military orders while Wash just talked over him, as usual.

Sarge came up to them, looking rightfully irritated over his dismissal from the other group, and glared down at the circle of simulation troops. Tucker almost felt bad for the guy, who seemed a bit winded from that gunshot wound to his shoulder that he was favoring, but that sympathy evaporated quickly when Sarge had to open his mouth.

"What's all this bellyaching?!" the red sergeant bellowed. Tucker scowled as the old man motioned recklessly overhead. "You nancies finished with your little tea party? Care to sit down and discuss our next plan of action instead of doing nothing but lookin' pretty?"

Church appeared next to Sarge, glimmering in the dimming sunlight of dusk. "I've done an intense analysis using my super advanced robot skills and I've come to a single conclusion," the AI said.

Tucker peered up at his friend. "And that is?"

"Sarge is still fucking insane," Church deadpanned. "And all of you are still morons."

"Gotcha." Tucker flinched when he noticed his hip flash and Church's form flickered. "Hey! Did you just jump into my suit again?"

"Suck it up. Congrats on being one of the few sane people here, though."

Tucker refused to take that as a big compliment. He almost asked why Church had come back to them. Didn't the AI want or need to be involved with the Grown Up Talk? Or was he kicked out too? That made no sense. Church didn't seem upset, so it seemed like he had come back willingly, which equally made little sense. Didn't he care about what was going on with the others? With Sigma and Delta especially?

Sarge marched to the center of their circle, clearly aiming to speak to his Reds, but when he looked over at Sister, he froze.

"Who're you—wait," he said, his eye-squinting practically audible. He pointed at her accusingly. "I remember _you_!"

Sister waved back cheerfully. "Hey, old man!"

"You finally done with your disco hippie training programs? !"

Grif sounded strained as he stood to face his commander. "Sarge, I swear to god, we've been over this…"

Sarge put up a huge fuss about wasting time _talking_ , but Grif and Sister both surprised Tucker with their creative method of getting the old man to shut up. Sister, having been there longest, offered to give them all a tour. Only Sarge gave two shits, which was fine by Tucker, and Grif followed after his commander and his sister. Tucker humored the idea that Grif didn't trust his leader with Sister and was going along just to keep an eye on things. It was oddly too normal, but Grif, oddly enough, was a pretty normal brother. It was strange to see.

_Cheers to somewhat sane relationships for once_ , Tucker thought dryly.

As if to drive a point home about how odd the rest of their situation was, Church the Glowing Robot Ghost hovered forward in the air, seemingly focused on one of the other members of Blue team. Tucker followed the AI's gaze and wondered what Church was looking at.

It was just Caboose. Caboose, who hadn't said a word the whole time and had merely stared at the ground between his toes. Caboose, who was occasionally making those overly deep sighs that made the whole boulder shift beneath them.

Tucker squinted his eyes at the big idiot and realized he had missed the obvious. Caboose was upset. Why now?

"What's with you, Caboose?" Church asked, crossing his tiny, translucent arms. Only he could have sounded both impatient and mildly concerned.

"I was just thinking," Caboose said, speaking slower than normal. He was still staring at the ground.

Tucker wagged at finger at the big kid. "Don't, it'll give you cancer."

"Tucker, shut up, dude," Church snapped.

Simmons frowned deeply. "What were you thinking about, Caboose?" he asked.

Caboose squirmed in his seat on the rocks. "Well, if Agent Washington isn't going to be on our team anymore, since Church is back, is he going to be a Freelancer again?"

"Huh?" Tucker asked, surprised enough that he didn't bother to continue his teasing. "No, Caboose, he's still on our side."

"But he's not a Blue, right?" Caboose asked, hesitating.

Simmons scratched the side of his helmet. "I guess he is. Does it matter?" he said, sounding uncertain. "It's just a color, it's not like…"

Tucker had been glaring at the rocks in front of him, but the sudden drop off of conversation sank in eventually. He gave in, turning around, and was surprised to see the Red staring downwards, apparently stuck on his thoughts.

"Simmons?" Tucker asked, unsure.

The maroon colored soldier visibly hesitated, but he finally did respond with a question: "What is he?"

Tucker blinked. What was…Wash? What kind of question was that?

"What do you mean?" Church asked, confused as well.

Simmons spoke cautiously, like he was overthinking what he was about to say. "If he's not a Blue, then he's basically the same as Iowa. Ex-Freelancer, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Then…what's going to happen to them if we get caught?" the Red asked, now decidedly uncomfortable.

Tucker froze.

That was an innocent enough question. It should have been, anyway. All theoretical or some shit. Not actually worth being worried about or concerned with. Tucker trusted that Wash had a plan, because Wash was a paranoid bastard and always had a plan. Plans like blowing up mountains to take out overpowered machines or taking out Pelicans singlehandedly with a rifle. Of course there'd be a plan by the end of the night on how to get out of this mess.

Except…

Wash was not just a paranoid bastard.

He was also the most fucked up example of survivor's guilt that Tucker had ever seen.

Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, Tucker knew what Simmons was trying to imply. That Wash didn't have the cover of the Blue Team anymore to fall back on, not really, and being caught meant different things for the ex-Freelancers than it did for the simulation troopers. They were just idiots. They could sell themselves as having no real part in any of this and get away scot-free, maybe.

Wash? He…didn't have that chance. At all.

He wasn't the only one to realize it. Church clearly caught on and Simmons now seemed convinced his theory was right. Caboose was still confused, but was visibly trying to understand silently in his warped little mind before opening his mouth to ask some stupid question.

Tucker realized he hadn't taken a breath yet and inhaled as slowly and calmly as he could.

Then, Church flashed once, breaking the gloom both metaphorically and literally.

"Wow, Simmons, I have never seen such a fast downturn of optimism," he said. "Congrats. Should we call you Queen Debbie?"

Simmons bristled. "S-shut up! I'm just thinking out loud!"

The bickering normally solved things. Tucker had often wondered lately, especially when things got really serious for them, if they had taken to keeping up the sarcasm and insults between each group and each member as a coping mechanism. Like, if they could still call each other dicks, they were still okay. That it wasn't that bad yet. That they were still well enough to hate each other instead of burying each other.

Tucker stood up, jostling Caboose in the process, and couldn't shake the burning in his chest.

It was that bad.

If it wasn't yet, he didn't want to know _bad_. He didn't want to know what _bad_ really felt like.

"Tucker?" Caboose called out as Tucker marched away from their circle, heading back toward the gate and where they had set up a half-assed sleeping quarters.

"Shut up," Tucker said, not bothering to look back at his comrades. "I'm going to bed."

Somehow, he had the feeling he wouldn't be sleeping much at all.

**0000**

The base was absolute shit, but they had bigger problems. Iowa knew the moment they landed that they had to make plans for their next three big steps, at the very least. They had the advantage of a few hours ahead of their enemies. But that was nothing. Nothing at all for a man like the Director.

He grabbed Ada, the AIs and Washington to get actual work done while the Reds and Blues recouped at the gate. O'Malley had run off into the compound with a faint sneer at them, clearly not interested in lingering with a crowd. Iowa let him run off, knowing that he couldn't get far without the ship or jeep. Wash wasn't happy, but didn't try to stop the AI either.

What was more irritating was the fact that the Red sergeant had followed them down to the Warthog. Iowa had wanted to hit the old man in frustration; how could someone that senile still be in the military, let alone a command position? The man wouldn't listen to any of his suggestions to just leave. Orders were blatantly ignored.

Church had followed them up in the Red, oddly silent. Iowa had briefly wondered what he was up to, but was distracted by the Red refusing to leave.

Ada kept a patient hand on Iowa's arm, which was the only reason he just stood by to let Wash "handle" the Red, with barely veiled irritation, but a clear sign of practiced skill.

"You should go keep the Reds and Blues in line," Wash said, forcefully serious. "I need someone over there keeping order. We're still exposed."

"While you make all the big plans without us?! Ha!" Sarge said, bitter. He kept his hand over his bandaged shoulder, but didn't seem like he would back down.

Wash merely stared at the old man right in the eyes, his expression blank. "Sarge, are you abandoning your post as commander of your team? They look like they need some directions, instead of just sitting around."

Sarge had turned nearly as red as his armor and then immediately turned to limp back to the other simulation troopers. His grumbling was loud enough to be heard until he was meters away.

Church, instead of staying in the AI containment unit, seemed to stare intensely at Sigma before flashing back to the departing Red. Sigma said nothing and neither did Delta.

Iowa chose to ignore them, even if he didn't trust them. They didn't have time for that nonsense then.

Washington watched Sarge go, his shoulders only faintly relaxing.

"Nicely handled," Iowa told him, smirking.

The other ex-Freelancer glared at him. "I've had practice. Now, let's get serious."

They had little time to debate their choices. They had to get off the moon, immediately, but lacked the resources to get them all off without detection. If they could get to Nexus, they could eventually go underground in the various cities there and hopefully spread out more over time, taking shuttles even further out of UNSC military space. Remaining undetected in the meanwhile was the challenge; getting off the moon at all seemed impossible.

"Our best option is to go for a shuttle," Iowa said, tapping his foot against the dirt. He knew he was doing it; nervous habit. He hated showing his agitation, but it was difficult to keep it under wraps, especially during downtime like that. "It won't get us far, but we can get to Nexus to either hide or jump further out."

"Nexus is going to be crawling with soldiers looking for us. We'd never get past security," Washington said, scowling. "And where are we getting a space shuttle big enough for all of us at once?"

"Not when we still have the advantage of time," Iowa said. "We need to move ASAP to capitalize on it. There's that base, I think twenty-five kilometers due west of here. It was some supply compound during the war before Freelancer grabbed it for their simulation project. I heard it was still operational. It'll have space-ready shuttles we can commandeer."

"Agent Iowa offers a logical point," Delta said, voice as level as always.

Iowa did not miss Ada's nervous glances toward Delta whenever the green AI spoke up. He chose to ignore it.

Wash snorted. "So, what, we raid a UNSC base, steal a shuttle and don't expect to be immediately shot out of the sky once we get in range of Nexus? They'll know we're coming. Sure as hell will after stealing that shuttle."

Sigma floated just above the AI containment unit, equally as unflustered as Delta seemed. "We will have to disable communications on the base. That will give us some time."

"A few hours, at best," Wash said, glaring at the AI. He ran his hand over his face and seemed to deflate. "Jesus…"

"We don't have many options here," Iowa said, frowning at the other ex-Freelancer. "Or do you have any brighter ideas?"

"No. Fuck."

Ada physically moved, hesitating before she spoke. She seemed a bit nervous under their stares, but gathered herself up quickly.

"Is there anyway we can avoid detection when we take a shuttle?" she asked. She continued before Wash could snap something at her. "As in, we don't just barge in with guns blazing? We sneak in and take over a shuttle that's about to take off. By the time we land and they discover the switch, they won't have time to hunt us down at the receiving dock on Nexus. Right?"

Iowa thought it over. "That could work," he said, nodding slowly. "We'll have to aim for a skeleton crew, late arrival. Fewer witnesses that way." And easier to dispose of the bodies. He didn't want to mention that to Ada then, of course.

"It's the only chance, I have to admit," Washington said. His grim expression made the rings under his eyes seem darker. He looked back at Ada, thankfully not glaring as harshly as before. "Any other suggestions, doctor?"

Ada fidgeted under the scrutiny. "Not really. I'll trust you all know what you're talking about."

"It'll be fine, Liv," Iowa said, catching her attention with a grin. "You have the right idea. We can sneak right in under their noses."

"Granted that our louder companions don't give away our position," Sigma said, her voice drawling out in a bored manner.

Washington immediately turned his glare back at her.

"They're coming with us," he said, coldly. "At least until Nexus and I can get them underground."

"Right," Ada said, sounding certain. She nodded at Wash. "It's only fair."

Iowa hummed. "Will they be able to hide, though? That planet will be crawling with UNSC." He knew that he could get himself and Ada underground easily enough, if they could contain the AIs, but the Reds and Blues weren't exactly subtle in anything.

Wash exhaled sharply and leaned against the Warthog. "They're idiots. They'll blend in once they get the armor off."

"You can hope," Sigma said, lightly.

That immediately had Wash's sharp, angry eyes on her again. "You have doubts you want to share?" he asked, a threat very clear in his voice. He wasn't being subtle about where his priorities were. Iowa could respect that.

Sigma flashed them an uncomfortably bright grin. "No. I'd rather be rid of the dead weight as soon as possible, so I'm willing to support this plan if only to split up sooner."

Wash's glare, somehow, intensified even more. Ada sent Sigma a strained look, which the AI primly ignored.

"Not that you have much of a choice," Iowa reminded her, speaking carefully.

Sigma barely flinched at that. "Oh, I certainly don't."

"Now, now," Ada said, raising a hand. "I think it's a good plan for now. It will serve us all well, no matter which end of our squad we're on."

"Are the adults in agreement then?" Iowa asked, glancing around at the only two sane humans and the reluctantly useful AIs he could trust to work this out.

Delta flashed faintly. "Should we not ask the Reds and Blues if they agree to the plan?" he asked.

Wash made a derisive noise, his eyes glancing back up the path toward his team once.

"They don't have much choice here, since they're way out of their element. I made a promise to get them free and clear and that's what I'm going to do," he said, eyes darker. "Trust me, it's best to just point them in the right direction rather than explain things to them. They're not the brightest, in case you missed that fact."

Delta just hovered, staring at the ex-Freelancer. "I see."

"We'll lay low for tonight and tomorrow before heading back out. Sarge needs to rest and I'm sure all of us could use some decent sleep," Wash said, scowling. "I'll figure out a watch rotation."

Iowa sighed heavily. "Sounds great."

It also sounded terribly unlikely to go according to plan.

He was beginning to realize he had to expect that.

He watched Washington stomp off towards the base. Sigma seemed to be grinning after him, but in a flash, returned to the AI containment unit as promised. Iowa knew that Washington was trustworthy enough to do what he said. They all had a vested interest in getting off that moon. Iowa had to trust that his fellow ex-solider would be competent enough to fulfill his half of the bargain.

Before Iowa made the move to follow his steps towards the base, he noticed Ada was watching Washington leave, seemingly focused. She looked back at Iowa and she frowned.

"I think he should be more honest with his friends," she said, looking back at Washington with an expression torn between wariness and pity.

Iowa had to agree. But that was his job and it wasn't hers.

"They have to settle it amongst themselves," he said. He sent her a tired smile. "As for us, we just have to do what we have to."

Ada hesitated, but nodded, understanding.

Iowa, for his part, knew it was only going to get harder to keep that mentality.

They just had to get to Nexus.

They could do this.

Anything else was not their responsibility.

**End** _**Chapter 13** _ **.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, the AIs have a family dispute and Wash is humbled by the simplest of things.
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -"really hot red-head in the teal armor stopped by" – ;)  
> -"the Reds and Blues of Blood Gulch seemed strangely immortal. …And not necessarily in the best way." – for real though


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your responses! In this chapter, Iowa and Delta have a heart-to-heart after Sigma and O'Malley have a little argument. Meanwhile, Wash speaks to the Reds and Blues.
> 
> Welp, this is a long chapter. I'm still trying to get a buffer started, but at least there's a lot of content in this one? Mostly talking. But important talking.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

 

The following morning, they had left Outpost 48. Simmons wasn't sad to see it go. It was a harrowing reminder of just how little the UNSC cared about the simulation troops. They were just another forgotten mess by Freelancer.

By some miracle, they had found another Warthog in storage at the base. It was an older model and barely worked, with Sarge having to coax the poor vehicle to life and rust dropping off of it like dust. It was safer to travel as inconspicuously as possible, Iowa had said, and that meant by ground. Wash agreed.

They destroyed the shuttle. Tucker suggested faking a crash to really throw off their pursuers, but exploding it would have been too much noise and effort. They ripped it apart instead. Any sign of their presence there had to be removed or destroyed. The remaining mess had been hidden by the natural foliage. It might have fooled the people chasing them, at least to give them a few more days of advantage while trying to track their movements.

Taking off by jeep, Simmons felt exposed as they rode in near silence. Everyone had to condense to fit, with far too many people in and on the jeeps than was safe. They didn't travel fast for that reason, despite the overwhelming urge to just speed along the abandoned military roads and off-road paths they were forced to take.

It had also been awkward to figure out how to seat everyone who had problems with other group members. Like O'Malley and Wash. Simmons had shuddered when they narrowly avoided a confrontation at the start, when Wash had almost ended up in the jeep O'Malley was in. That wouldn't do for long-term travel, everyone else clearly agreed. Wash said nothing, coldly ignoring the AI and his host now. Simmons took that as a positive, even though the cold tension that lingered was _seriously_ uncomfortable.

They had stopped around noon, courtesy of both Caboose being Caboose and an unstated need to stretch from such close proximity to one another. The Blues had driven with Ada, Iowa and the AI containment unit, which was pretty large and needed more room. Simmons had been really freaked out about spending so long in between Sigma-Donut and O'Malley. Thankfully both AIs had been really quiet and ignored the humans around them the whole time, so it hadn't been _too_ bad.

They stopped along the edge of a mountain and the ocean. Simmons thought they might have been headed to the where they had first encountered the Meta, at that power plant. Food rations had to be carefully handled before they got a chance to steal from another base, despite Grif's rumblings. Simmons had to trust that Wash knew where they were going and that they'd get there promptly, like he had said they would.

His trust in the unfriendly Blue-slash-Freelancer was shaky, but it was clear that it was stronger than the trust his own commander had in their guides at the moment. Simmons knew Sarge was unhappy with being wounded and being pushed to the side by Wash and Iowa during the planning stages of this all. He found Sarge staring grumpily up the path at where the other Warthog and the others were, the humans talking amongst themselves.

"Sir?" Simmons asked, finally getting the nerve to interrupt his commander's… observations.

"I don't like this," Sarge said. He looked displeased. "This stopping and going nonsense."

"Well, sir, you know how Caboose is," Simmons said, trying to be the diplomat. "He's not good with long travels."

"Pampering the enemy. What a disgrace," the older soldier muttered, shaking his head. He was glaring with open distrust up the path, where Ada and the two ex-Freelancers were still talking quietly. Delta was with them as well. "And look at those three, conniving behind our backs, as if we can't see it."

Simmons frowned, worried. "I'm sure they're just talking about the directions we're taking, sir."

"I'll bet," Sarge said, sounding entirely unconvinced. "Once we get the chance, we should consider our other options."

"Other… options, sir?" Simmons repeated, now a little wary.

Grif snorted, leaning against a nearby boulder, unhappy he had already finished his share of lunch as he sat with his sister. "What are those? Running on our own?"

"Is that even an option?" Sister asked, surprised as she chucked her trash over her shoulder onto the beach.

"No," Sarge said, scowling and sounding thoroughly displeased with his own answer. "Like I said, once we have the chance, we'll consider the options provided by that chance."

"And how will we know what chance that is?" Simmons asked. He understood why their sergeant was determined to get out from under what seemed like the thumbs of both strangers and Wash's paranoia, but it seemed a bit misguided. And impossible.

Sarge put his hands on his hips, looking determined. "I haven't figured that out yet. I need time to properly think."

"Great," Grif said, rolling his eyes.

Their leader continued, sounding quite serious. "And I—whoa!"

Sarge's exclamation made Simmons, Grif and Sister all jump. He was looking past them, at the other Warthog, and Simmons was terrified about what they'd find. If it was another Pelican full of soldiers, they were screwed…!

When he finally did turn around, he was startled to see nothing more than O'Malley and Sigma-Donut by their jeep, as they had been before, having quietly taken to the side when the humans walked off for lunch.

This time, however, Simmons was greeted with the sight of Sigma rearing back with a closed fist and slamming it directly into O'Malley's visor. O'Malley stumbled back a few feet.

"Holy shit," Grif said, jaw dropped.

Everyone yelled out in surprise when Sigma and O'Malley proceeded to, effectively, go _batshit on each other_.

Simmons knew that both AI were strong and easy to rile. Sigma, through Donut, had schooled O'Malley rather easily when he had been hobbling around in Wash's body earlier that week.

It was easy to forget that, once he was more stable, O'Malley was just as capable of violence as Sigma. He lacked her finesse, but he certainty mastered brutality awhile ago. Doc was in decent shape, after all.

Sigma seemed to do her best to floor the other AI with several powerful looking punches. O'Malley, ducking now, snarled something loud and angry. He lunged at her, grappling with her arms and bringing his borrowed knee up to slam into her stomach. AIs could ignore most human injuries, Simmons had learned, and Sigma merely pushed back, shouting something back unintelligible to the rest of them. She yanked away and then roundhouse kicked him in the face, sending O'Malley slamming into the Warthog. He barely dodged her second kick, which clearly dented the side of the jeep.

Abruptly, Simmons realized they had a major problem.

"What's going on? !" Tucker exclaimed to the side, proving that the others were seeing this, too.

"What's wrong with Private Biscuit?" Caboose asked, alarmed.

"They've lost their gourds!" Sarge exclaimed. He sounded vaguely intrigued.

"Fight, fight!" Sister cheered, waving her fist.

Further up the path, Wash, Iowa and Ada came running. Ada was appropriately horrified.

"O'Malley!" she screamed. "Sigma!"

"What the hell is their deal?" Tucker asked, disturbed. He winced, not wearing his helmet, as Sigma tripped O'Malley straight into the back fender of the Warthog and stomped on his ankle.

Iowa was up with them in a second. "What happened? Did one of them attack the other?"

"I don't know! O'Malley had been by the Warthog, but then Sigma walked up to him and then—I don't know!" Tucker said, over Sister's cheers for the fight and Ada's horrified yelling for them to stop. Tucker let out a startled laugh as Sigma and O'Malley tumbled to the ground, hands on each other's helmets. "Hole-lee-shit, look at them! Damn, I'm glad they're going at each other for once."

"Stop them!" Ada cried. Simmons had no idea who she was asking, but she had _better_ not have expected him or the other simulation troops to jump to the task. "Sigma! Stop it! Leave O'Malley alone!"

"Delta!" Iowa barked, hands on his gun, lifting it hesitantly but he lowered it immediately. "Get them to stop this, now!"

"I cannot physically intervene," Delta said, sounding just a little more alarmed than his normal, flat voice as he hovered in his usual spot next to Ada.

"Christ on a bike, these fucking idiots," Church seethed, his image wavering next to Tucker's shoulders. "Sigma! O'Malley! Quit it!"

None of their shouts seemed to reach the two fighting AIs. Sigma clearly had the upper hand, though it wasn't clear if it was just because her body was in better condition or because she herself was more stable than O'Malley. She was launched backwards once by O'Malley's legs, but quickly recovered, launching back at him, snarling with fury.

Using Donut's body for more violence than the pink soldier had probably ever inflicted himself, Sigma tripped O'Malley again and kicked him several times, in the ribs and once in the head. Ada made a strangled sound of distress and Church's cursing got louder.

Sigma abruptly stood back, body heaving with anger and exertion. It was clearly not a fair fight, nor one that reminded Simmons of a pair of Freelancers duking it out professionally.

Suddenly, after all of that, the two lunatics finally spoke clearly enough to be understood.

" _Ungrateful wretch!_ " Sigma snarled. She kicked him harshly in the side, making him cough. " _You wish to be a solitary beast? Fine! Suffer in isolation._ "

O'Malley lashed out with both legs, forcing her to stumble back. " _You speak so freely of suffering. You do seem to be an expert_ ," he said, sounding just as angry, if not more winded. " _Do not touch me!_ "

A gunshot rang out. Simmons yelped and ducked instinctively, but there was only one shot. When he turned his head, he saw most of his friends cowering back as well from Iowa, who had raised his pistol upwards. He had fired it into the air, Simmons realized in hindsight.

It had at least had the effect intended. Both Sigma and O'Malley had frozen and turned in alarm at the sound. At their own realization, O'Malley had snarled lowly and pushed back to edge further from Sigma, who was focused on the others now, radiating danger.

"Alright, calm down!" Iowa yelled. He motioned at Sigma. "What's your problem? You don't just snap for any old reason, Sigma. What's the deal?"

" _None of your business, Freelancer_ ," Sigma snarled. She turned and took a step towards O'Malley, who was staring up at her with a heaving body by the Warthog's back wheel.

Hesitating, Iowa didn't seem to know if he should have raised his gun to stop her. Neither did Wash or anyone else. Simmons certainly didn't know what they should have done. Defend O'Malley? But why did they have to in the first place? It made no sense—

Simmons almost screamed when a flash of yellow suddenly flung itself from Caboose. It only made sense in hindsight that Ada had let Caboose carry the AI Zeta in his suit for the trip, to keep them both company. Simmons had seen the "kid" AI briefly and had been surprised by its apparent naivety and child-like behavior. Now, the childish AI was blaring brightly in between Caboose and Sigma, his attention on his fellow AI.

"Sigma!" Zeta blurted out, waving his hands wildly. He sounded distressed, almost agitated. "Leave Omega alone!"

Sigma made a derisive sound, barely sending the AI a glance. " _Go away, you little—_ "

And then, without warning, several more figures appeared right over the Warthog, causing several of the humans around it to jump back in alarm. All of the figures were multi-colored and seemed to be hovering above the AI containment unit tucked into the front seat. Simmons gaped in surprise. Were these all of the AIs? They couldn't jump into other suits, as they had been told, but clearly they could come out in holographic form.

"Sigma!" the reddish colored one boomed, his voice louder and more aggressive than the other's were. He shook a tiny fist towards the pink armored AI. "You oughta be ashamed! Giving these humans the chance to exploit our weaknesses!"

Sigma whirled around to face them. "Weakness _? I have none. All of you, go back into the carrier_ ," she snapped, waving Donut's hand at them in dismissal. She sounded really pissed.

The white light, the only one in the shape of an orb instead of a tiny person, flashed once. "Correction: our weaknesses are shared. Sigma, you have acted out of line."

_Holy shit, was that Gary—?!_

" _Excuse me?_ " Sigma asked, voice hissing with rage now.

"Why are you hitting Omega? It's not his fault!" Zeta exclaimed, still upset. He was bouncing up and down. "It's not!"

" _Shut up_ ," Sigma said, taking a step toward the AIs.

"This is happening all over again. They're tearing us apart," the light-blue one wailed, sounding agonized.

The faint purple one next to him went in and out of focus, like a distorted video clip. "You're making it worse! Worse!"

"It was better on the _Falcon_ ," the faint yellow colored one—he was far lighter than Zeta was—said, speaking in a deadened voice, as if he had given up hope on everything. "Freelancer is going to get us because you made us weak."

Sigma seized up physically, practically visibly shaking with anger. " _I did not make us weak. I make us strong, while you wither and tremble at the sight of sacrifice_ ," she spat. "I _am the one who got us this far!_ "

"No, no, you made it worse!" the purple one screeched, flashing wildly. "Omega's not okay anymore and it's all your fault!"

" _How dare you—? !_ " Sigma shrieked, taking several steps forward, hands outreached.

She stopped dead in her tracks when Church, in his ghostly white form, appeared between her and the AIs. He was just as tiny as usual, but there was something decidedly larger about him.

"Sigma," Church said, severe. He inclined his head. "Drop it."

Simmons didn't breathe for a full second.

He had a vague idea of just what Church meant to the AIs. It was all theoretical, though a lot of it had been confirmed over the years for them. Church was supposed to be this mythical "Alpha" figure that the AIs came from. Wash had implied earlier that the AIs almost worshipped him. It just didn't translate into direct leadership to Simmons (or the other Reds and Blues, really), just due to their experience with Church. Church hated being called an AI. Why would he have any interest in bossing the AIs around? That would mean he had to associate with them.

Simmons' theories were left hanging in open air as Sigma continued to remain motionless in front of Church. She didn't seem to be calming down, judging by her heaving chest plates and an all-too-obvious aura of anger wafting off of her borrowed body.

It seemed like she and Church could have had a staring match all day long and not move an inch. Simmons felt a chill go down his spine watching it.

_What the hell was going on?_ he thought helplessly. This was starting to get really alarming.

One last colored motion caught his eye. Glancing warily to the side, Simmons saw the green AI, Delta, hovering by Ada's shoulder. He didn't seem to pay the horrified and shocked humans near him any attention, having moved forward in front of them a few meters.

"He is right to say that you should leave it be," Delta said. He didn't flinch when the pink AI turned to him, her head whipping around with unnatural speed. "This is not the time, Sigma."

" _This none of your business. Any of your business!_ " she said, still angry and unhinged. " _You should—_ "

Delta stared at her dispassionately. "You should have known about compassion before O'Malley merged with Xi, before you assumed you knew what is best for us," he said, his voice as blunt and level as ever.

It might have been Simmons' imagination, but he also could have sword the AI sounded… angry. Like, a shadow of anger. It dissipated as quickly as he thought he heard it.

Sigma was just staring at Delta, motionless, but still shaking.

" _You_ …" she began, voice quaking with anger.

"Back down, Sigma," Delta continued, again level. "You are wasting our time."

The idea of Sigma completely losing it and attacking someone again made Simmons incredibly nervous. She was fucking deadly in Donut's body (damn that guy for being one of the few simulation troopers who kept in shape!). More so, Delta didn't have a body. Would Sigma go after his carrier, Ada in this case? Or was she that unhinged that she'd go after someone at random…?

Simmons winced when Donut's body moved. Sigma turned it, the tension leaving her borrowed form slowly. She was still angry, though. It was palpable in the air.

After what felt like minutes, Sigma finally let go. Literally.

Donut stumbled forward, causing Grif and Sister to jump back in alarm, and flailed his arms in the air, as if he had been pushed forward.

"Whoa!" the pink soldier yelped. Donut, clearly back in control of his body and alone, glanced around him wildly. "Wha—where'd Sigma go? What's going on?"

Tucker sent him a strange look. "Uh, shouldn't we be asking you that?"

"I believe she has returned to the unit," Delta informed them, utterly calm. "It is fine now."

As if Simmons would believe _that_. O'Malley was standing again and seemed intent on ignoring everyone. He didn't look too bad, but when he tried to move from the jeep, he was clearly limping.

The AIs seemed to watch Church and then Delta silently. They also ignored the humans. Without another word, they blinked out of existence. Zeta whined lowly, but vanished when Church looked over at him.

_Holy. Shit._ Simmons struggled to comprehend what they had just witnessed. He came up with nothing.

"What the fuck was that?" Grif asked, voicing probably everyone's first question.

"Why does my hand hurt?" Donut exclaimed. Everyone ignored him.

"I have no idea what that was," Wash said, sounding uneasy. He turned to the side and looked at their resident psychologist, who was gaping at the AI containment unit in open shock. "Livingston?"

"I have no idea either," Ada said, clearly struggling to understand. She looked disturbed. "They've never been like this! Sure, they've bickered, but…physical violence? And all of them to join in like that!"

"This is the first time Sigma and Omega had bodies together, though," Iowa said. He whistled. "Damn, you think they've been waiting to lash out like that this whole time?"

"Both are stubborn and resistant to being commanded, so perhaps it's just a power struggle. It's still very concerning and I—," Ada began to say.

"Hey."

Everyone startled a little and turned to look back at Church, who was the only other AI besides Delta who was still visible. He was staring at Ada, but then looked around at the rest of the humans. His arms were crossed against his translucent chest.

"Drop it," he ordered again, this time to the humans. Simmons gaped at him.

"Church?" Ada asked, shocked.

"Just ignore them. They're fucking idiots," Church said, ignoring her reaction. He abruptly turned and faced Wash. "Hey, Wash, let's take a break for a bit here."

Wash, just as uneasy as the others, regarded him carefully. "We're wasting time," he said, not entirely negative.

"You wanna be stuck with those two psychos on the road?" Church said, shrugging. He, unlike the others, sounded normal. "I sure as fuck don't."

That earned him a snort from the ex-Freelancer. "Hmph."

Simmons had to agree with Church, even though the AI was acting really suspicious. Even Caboose and Sister were peering at him with unabashed uncertainty. Sarge looked disgruntled and Tucker looked like he wanted to demand answers, but he didn't.

Wash finally turned back to face them all, looking resolute.

"Two hours!" he finally said, speaking loudly to everyone present. "And then we're back on the road."

"Right," Church said, nodding in agreement. Simmons just stared at him, still feeling lost.

Ada still looked harried as she gazed after O'Malley. "We'll need to make sure they're separated from now on."

"Are they freaking cats and dogs now?" Iowa asked, annoyed. "Jeez. Damn AI."

"I've never seen them…" Ada began, voice trailing off.

Simmons glanced back at O'Malley, who clearly needed to be looked over, and then he looked back at the AI containment unit. When he looked back at Ada, she still looked lost.

"I've never seen them turn on her like that," she said, sounding distant. The confusion and awe in her eyes spoke volumes. "Sigma…"

Sarge scowled. "She's the ringleader, isn't she?"

"Yes. I thought so," Ada said, sounding distracted. She turned and looked at the white AI still hovering by Tucker. "Church, what _happened_?"

"Nothing," the grumpy AI said, indifferent. "She's a bitch, what do you want? Let's just be thankful she shut up on her own."

"But…"

Church made a sound of annoyance. "Ada, _Jesus_ , let it go." With that, he vanished from sight.

Ada exchanged a worried look with Iowa, who shrugged, and she walked off, making a beeline for O'Malley. Simmons watched her go, feeling increasingly out of the loop. At least he wasn't alone.

"That was weird," Caboose commented, sounding thoughtful.

Understatement.

**0000**

They were wasting time hanging around the beach, but honestly, Wash was a bit more concerned about figuring out of he should have grabbed the simulation troops and left right then and there.

While he knew that Omega and the other AIs were unstable fragments, he hadn't expected Livingston's diagnosis of their stability to be so… off. There was something really wrong with O'Malley as a default, but if there was some AI civil war going on, Wash had zero intention of lingering for the battle.

He waited, observing patiently. O'Malley, inside of Doc, seemed like he had been the victim here instead of the aggressor, for once. Wash didn't like it. Sigma had never been one to lose her cool like that; she usually sent someone else, like Omega, to do the freaking out. The entire episode had been unsettling for its implications.

Church's behavior was also troubling. He hadn't come back out of Tucker's armor since his dismissal of their questions. Wash knew that Church was struggling with his AI heritage, but he had acted almost too sure of himself during that fight. Wash didn't want to stir up trouble with Church at that point, since the Blues were resettling into their old routines, but if Church was starting to identify more with the AIs now…

Well, he'd have to figure out what to do when or if he ever confirmed it. He hoped it had just been a one-time thing. He didn't want to have to explain to Caboose why his "best friend" just betrayed them to help the other AIs.

The secret-keeping wasn't exactly comforting either. Wash scowled at the idea of so much being kept from them. Livingston and Iowa had at least seemed equally startled by the incident, so at least it wasn't that large of a conspiracy. Just the AIs. Lovely.

Wash sighed to himself as he watched Livingston fail to get O'Malley to calm down long enough to examine him. She had taken the AI containment unit from the Warthog to settle against some boulders, taking shelter from the intense sun. Sigma had yet to make a reappearance. Wash decided that was a good thing.

The Reds and Blues, properly unnerved, were all talking amongst themselves when Wash finally walked back up from his watch of the AI team. He knew they'd be freaked out. Hopefully, they didn't want to bolt then. He still needed Iowa's help to plan for their assault on the UNSC base.

They had also been keeping a wary eye on where O'Malley and the AI unit was. None of them, even Donut and Caboose, looked happy.

"Well, that just told me so much more about these guys than words alone did," Grif deadpanned as they watched O'Malley duck away from Livingston's hands.

Simmons looked distressed. "I thought they said those AI were under control. Mannn."

"Under control! _Ha_!" Sarge barked. He sounded legitimately angry. "Do they really think we're that stupid?"

"More than you can fathom," Wash said, walking over to them. They all turned, facing him with varying degrees of weariness and surprise.

"Washington!" Sarge shouted, angry. He gestured out at where O'Malley was metaphorically licking his wounds. "Care to explain just what that was?"

"How should I know?" Wash asked, scowling right back. He sat down with a quiet groan on the lower rock in front of him. "If you're not trusting those things now, I'm the one who said it first. They're a means to an end. Only that."

"So you say," Sarge growled. He crossed his arms and loomed over the ex-Freelancer. "Hey. Listen up, Blue."

Wash peered back up, feeling exhausted, but knew he ought to take Sarge seriously. He owed them that much at least. "What?"

Sarge's eyes were narrowed into a glare. "What was all that?" he asked, voice rougher than normal. "Back at Valhalla? You going off your rocker? Or is this going to be normal behavior?"

"If you mean my aggression, you should have expected it," Wash said, not exactly in the mood to defend himself, but he knew Sarge had a point. He had been more high-strung than the Reds and Blues were used to. He should have apologized for being so demanding, he realized, but it wasn't really the time. Once they were free and clear… maybe.

"Hmph. I'm not talking about you being sore about the robots coming back," Sarge said, immovable. "I'm talking about your little _meltdown_ two days ago."

Wash froze.

Behind Sarge, the other Reds and Blues were watching him warily. Wash stared back, feeling too startled to look away or find an excuse.

He was talking about… when Wash ran, after O'Malley. About how Wash had…

Had…

He suddenly felt exposed. He felt their stares penetrating his armor, searing into his skin. Wash stared back, unable to really take in the full image of them watching him with varying degrees of intensity, curiosity, and wariness.

Wash nodded slowly. He hadn't wanted to think about it, but he knew he owed them that much. He owed them a lot more, really.

"This is all my fault," he said, staring past them, at the sand.

He heard Tucker make a sound of disbelief. "What? How is this all your fault?" the teal soldier asked.

Wash closed his eyes, trying to ignore the building headache behind his skull. "I'm the one who—"

Abandoned the Reds in a firefight, inflicted trauma on Doc, allowed himself to be taken over by O'Malley, used to hurt them, could have killed them—

"Who, what, chose to survive? We chose that, too, dumbass," Tucker interrupted. He ignored Wash's surprise and made a face. "Wash, this is like maybe five percent your fault. At best."

"I humbly disagree," Wash replied coolly, looking up at his team.

Tucker glared. "Disagree all you want, dumbass, but you're still our friend."

Wash stared at him.

"Your friend?" he repeated, feeling dull and electrified at the same time.

"What the fuck did you think?" Tucker asked, laughing but not exactly in a happy manner.

"Of course you're our friend!" Caboose added, sounding far too legitimately happy.

"You're a dick, but jeez, even I have more self-confidence than you do. And I just don't care," Grif grumbled.

Simmons fidgeted. "You have betrayed us before, but Wash, come on, we're not that stupid. We know you're doing your best now. For us. So, yeah, we've noticed."

Donut hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I mean, I don't know you as well as the others—"

"You're still a cop," Sister muttered, looking decidedly left out of the conversation, but she was paying attention.

"—but you have been keeping us from getting captured by Freelancer, right? So I guess you're okay," Donut finished. "They're so rude."

"I don't appreciate you talking over our heads, but I have to admit, you know what you're doing," Sarge said, looking like he had to force himself to say anything. He continued, loud and aggravated. "But for Pete's sake, you sure don't know the definition of teamwork. There's a team involved! And despite the fact you're masquerading a dirty Blue, you've done a decent job keeping this team together!"

Wash just stared at them.

"I…" he started, but failed.

All he could think about was that stupid firefight. The Pelican had been right over top of them. He had been the one to make up that stupid plan, to have the Reds cover him long enough to get to the rocket launcher. He had put Iowa at risk, but Wash didn't care about him. He had had a responsibility to his team, both the Reds and Blues, and he just…

Left them.

Because he was weak.

"Simmons, I'm sorry," he said, taking a shallow breath before continuing. He forced himself to keep eye contact. "I fucked up. I fucked up, big time, and it almost got you killed."

That caused Simmons, as well as many of the others, to blink in surprise. "What are you… oh. Oh, you mean, the rocket launcher?" Simmons asked. Sarge snorted. Simmons looked uneasy. "What was that, anyway?"

It had been a pathetic, hopeless attempt to fix himself. It had only made him more worthless, in the end.

"I… lost my head," Wash said. He gripped his hands together tightly, enough that the pressure kept him grounded. "I just… lost it."

He had been lost in the cold panic of the fight, but the moment he had seen the purple medic dashing off, presumably to disappear off the radar completely, he had been struck by anger and fear of a different kind. Coupled with the helplessness he had felt the night prior when he realized he could do nothing to free Doc from O'Malley clutches, Wash had been possessed by the idea that he had to do something, right then, or it…

Or…

Finally, after glancing between Grif and Tucker, Simmons looked back at him.

"What is it about Doc and O'Malley that makes you so mad?" the maroon soldier asked. Judging by the others' expressions, they were wondering the same thing.

It wasn't necessarily about Doc. It wasn't. It was… It could have been any of them and…

"It's stupid. It was no excuse for me to have abandoned my team like that in the middle of the field. I fucked up and that's what matters," Wash said, trying his best to remain at least sounding calm, even if he didn't feel it. "I'm sorry."

Tucker frowned. "Is it the possession thing?"

_The possession thing._ Wash knew they had all experienced Omega's presence, briefly, years ago. He knew that they knew the bare basics of what had happened to Wash, to Maine, and the other Freelancers.

But they didn't get it. How could they have?

"You don't know what it's like," he said, almost too quietly.

Grif arched an eyebrow. "Being possessed, you mean?" Several of them opened their mouths to disagree.

Wash glanced their way, silencing them with his expression. "I know you guys had been possessed by O'Malley at different points, back at Blood Gulch, but you were never…"

They didn't know. They didn't know what it was like, in the long term. They hadn't felt true implantation, to start with, but even with the hybrid, self-taught method O'Malley had developed, the length of time would have made it just as bad as true implantation for Doc. It must have.

Hours became weeks. Days became years.

"The time, the longer the time, it gets worse," Wash said. He winced at the sound of voice, which held a faint quake in it. "And if the AI isn't stable? It's hell. It's a living hell and you're completely out of control of it. When Epsilon…"

Hot flashes went through him, making him jolt physically. He couldn't see the Reds or Blues' faces at that point; he imagined they were watching and listening carefully.

"When Epsilon killed himself, I felt everything. _Everything_ ," he said, letting the words go. If he didn't say it then, he knew he wouldn't later. They deserved to know. "And then when I woke up, back in the hospital, I had to pretend like nothing was wrong. Because if I showed that I knew what had happened to the Alpha or Allison or the AIs, the Director would have killed me then. I had to hide it and I…"

York had already vanished. North had tried—he had tried to be there, to help him, not knowing the full extent of the damages. Carolina was dead. Tex, gone. Maine had become a monster. There was no one Wash could have trusted or was willing to have risked. He wallowed in the memories and pain and forced himself to tell everyone that he was fine, that it was just physical.

They had no idea how deep it went. Even the Director, who had watched him with sharp and cold eyes ever since, had no idea until it was too late. There hadn't been enough evidence to prove Wash had experienced anything more than a physical backlash.

But Doc? Doc was the closest non-Freelancer who knew what it was like to be stuck as a puppet for long-term. It wasn't the same as being jumped and used in that same moment in time.

It was drowning. It was losing oneself. It could drive someone insane. It had, for Wash.

"When I see Doc, I see myself," he said, closing his eyes tightly. He tried to not see anything, real or in his head. "I see that loneliness and it's like I'm back on the _Mother of Invention_ , with my team murdered by each other and my whole world over."

"But he's not the same as you," Simmons said, sounding confused. "Doc's lived through this and he escaped it, I'd say, mostly unharmed."

How? It was bewildering to Wash. He didn't have the chance or energy to ask Doc how he could handle it so well. How could Wash or Texas, who were arguably stronger than Doc ever could be, falter under the swamping presence of Omega or Epsilon, but Doc could just… deal with it? Adapt to it? Act like it was just a mild inconvenience? That mere fact that he could speak on equal terms with O'Malley was…

Regardless of how, Wash forcefully acknowledged that it wasn't his place to intervene now. Doc was still a part of his team and Wash wanted to make sure that the AIs and Freelancer were eventually removed from their lives as soon as possible, but now… wasn't the time.

"I know," Wash said, opening his eyes to face them again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Tucker said, matter-of-fact. "Because you're insane."

Wash stared at him.

"What?" he asked, after a beat. He was too tired to really react, but seriously, _what_?

Tucker had a gall to smirk. "I'm pretty sure all of us are at least one level of fucked in the head, but the psycho balances it out, doesn't it?" he asked, shrugging. "Because we're all idiots who fuck up, but it winds up turning out okay, most times. You might not be our level of idiot, but you fit the mold in another way. I guess."

"Yeah! We have Church back now, but you are still Washington," Caboose said, perking up. "Maybe you can be Sheila now instead! It would not be the same if you were a tank, but you can still help me with making food and telling me stories before bedtime!"

Wash blinked. "Right."

"We're not going to throw you to the curb, Wash," Simmons said, scratching the back of his head, looking thoughtful. "I mean, you did try to kill us before, but we tried to kill you, too, so I guess that makes us even."

"Besides, I'm all for the easy and simple route. It'll take less energy to just trust that you're not a total dick anymore," Grif added.

"You might be a dirty Blue, but Washington, I do commend your dedication to finishing off your enemies," Sarge said, forcing Wash to look between each of the Reds, feeling overwhelmed by their words. "You listen here. You might have brought this into our lives when you went hunting for us during your little 'recovery' adventure, and you might have slipped up a few times when you got buddy-buddy with the Meta—but you also got us out of more than a few scrapes."

Hardly. He had… brought this upon them. He might not have introduced them to O'Malley or Texas or Wyoming, but he had brought the Meta to them. Maybe it had been unavoidable and he had helped them to at least survive the first encounter with him, but later… he had betrayed them. He had shot Donut, he had held Doc and Simmons at gunpoint, he had been willing to do anything to save his own life, theirs be damned.

He didn't deserve their trust. He didn't understand.

"How can you forgive me so readily?" he asked, still dazed.

Tucker frowned. "Because we're not smart. We're not the super soldiers you're used to, trained to like decipher bomb sequences with our brains or whatever you guys did at Freelancer school."

"You forgive me because you're idiots?" Wash asked. He tried to focus.

"No, moron," Tucker said, without malice and only a faint trace of annoyance. "We forgive you because we're stupid enough to consider you a friend first."

"Yeah," Grif said, yawning loudly between words. "I mean, if we were caught up with the whole you-tried-to-kill-me-so-I-hate-you thing, we'd never be able to work together anyway."

Sarge grumbled, irritated by the notion of Red-Blue teamwork as usual. "We don't talk about that."

"It's true though."

They all seemed so serious. None of them were trying to deny what they were all saying. Sister looked indifferent, but she was still mostly an outsider. The men that Wash had come to know and trust as his personalized idiot army were all looking at him expectantly. Caboose and Donut were still clinging to absurd optimism. Simmons looked nervous, but he didn't look distrustful. Grif seemed ready to move on from the topic, as he did with anything else. Sarge looked annoyed, but he wasn't shouting off insults like he would have if he hadn't agreed with their declarations of trust.

Tucker just looked like he was waiting for something specific, his arms crossed against his chest, eyebrow raised, and his lips drawn tightly as he looked at Wash. He still acted the same. He meant what he had said.

Wash had to force himself to believe it.

"Thank you," he said. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I promise, I'll get you out of this."

"And you, too!" Caboose said brightly. "Don't forget yourself. That's the first thing you ought to remember. Especially when traveling."

Wash shook his head slowly. "I can't promise that, Caboose." If it got to that point, he couldn't do anything else but make sure the simulation troopers were kept out of the picture. His identity was too well known.

"Then don't bother promising the other stuff," Tucker said, scowling.

"Tucker…" Wash began, starting to argue, but he stopped. He could tell the teal armored soldier wasn't going to let him.

Maybe it was for the better.

It certainly didn't make him feel as cheerful as Caboose looked. But it wasn't awful. It just… made him tired.

They still had a ways to go before the danger started to reach a more immediate level again. Wash worried about getting them through it. He didn't have the energy to worry much further than their next objective.

He knew that they were paying attention to the things he was not, however. He knew them that well. It was a comfort, one he hesitated to dare to take.

Wash rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes, a temporary solution, before looking back at the quiet simulation troops.

"Enjoy the break and get some more rest while you can," he said, standing up. He gently shook the stiffness from his shoulders. "We're halfway there and we'll be moving quicker soon enough."

They'd have to make plans for their hijacking maneuver for the supply shuttle, but they'd have to wait until well after nightfall anyway. Wash trusted in his Red and Blues being more skilled at winging it and getting through it by the skin of their teeth.

"Wash," Tucker said, causing the ex-Freelancer to pause as he meant to turn around.

Ignoring the nervous flutter in his stomach, Wash faced him. "Yeah?"

Tucker still looked far too serious compared to his usual expressions. The lazy, laid-back slacker was gone. "We trust you," he said, sounding like he meant it.

Wash stared at him, and the other Reds and Blues who were peering back at him with both curiosity and what almost seemed like reprimanding expressions. He wondered, not for the first time since he met them and they accepted him as one of their own, if Connie would have said he was lucky or unlucky.

He decided at that moment that he was incredibly, incredibly lucky.

"Thank you," he said, smiling as much as he could. The gesture wasn't strong and it wasn't nearly as friendly as they deserved.

But Tucker grinned back and Wash knew that they'd be okay.

They would be okay.

**0000**

"O'Malley, please wait."

" _Don't touch me._ "

"Omega, please, let me help."

" _Go away!_ "

Delta watched silently as Ada tried, in vain, to coax O'Malley to sit still and let her look at his injuries. Even when he wasn't under so much stress, O'Malley resisted control, even well-meant control. Sigma had not been any more obedient. She had retreated to the AI containment unit without a word and remained there like a black cloud. Delta did not look forward to returning to the unit later on, but he wanted to speak with her after some time had passed. He knew their other siblings were giving her a wide berth as well.

In the meanwhile, he waited and said nothing as he watched O'Malley snarl and finally yank away from the doctor who had tried to get him to sit on the rocky ground with her. He stormed off in his host, limping slightly, but was otherwise undamaged. His aggression was still strong enough to overwhelm most of the debilitating side effects of Xi, it seemed, when he was under stress.

Ada looked aggrieved by her inability to assist him. Delta knew she just wanted to help.

"Ada, it would not be wise to continue pushing Omega at this point," he said. He tilted his head, attempting to be sympathetic when she looked over at him. "It is a point of debate solely between those two."

Her eyes were wide and needy. "Do you know what the problem is?" she asked. "Do you know why they attacked each other like that?"

Yes, he did.

"It is not my place to say," Delta said. He felt a twinge of self-depreciation at the sight of Ada's disappointment. "Give it a few days, to allow them to calm down. Omega is still unpredictable in this state."

"He might be hurt," Ada said, wilting. She rubbed her exposed face brusquely with her hand. "Mr. DuFresne, I mean. Sigma certainly knows how to use Mr. Donut's physique well."

"Approach him carefully, Ada," Delta warned again when she stood up. He gauged her behavior and decided to add, "Allow me to accompany you."

It was a feint. He was relieved when it worked and Ada sent him a small smile.

"No, it's okay. I'll be fine," she said. She nodded at the containment unit, which she had allowed him to return to when they received word they would be remaining at that location for a few hours. "Recharge and keep an eye on the others, please?"

Delta nodded, intending to do just that. "If you wish."

Sigma's mood was not cohesive for further negotiations with the Reds and Blues. The meltdown had damaged their relations with the simulation troopers and Agent Washington. If she lashed out again, by stealing one of their bodies perhaps, it would potentially incite retribution. Delta had had enough of inter-group violence. Sigma would likely be rational enough to sulk in her dark corner for now, however. Delta wanted to linger, just in case.

Movement to his side reminded Delta that he was not alone with the AI containment unit. Agent Iowa had lingered with Ada, quietly watching her fruitless attempt to help O'Malley, and had remained in his place after she walked off after the rogue AI.

"Do you think it's safe to trust Ada with Omega at this point?" the ex-Freelancer asked Delta, masked face watching the woman head up towards the beach.

Delta kept his attention on Ada. He noted how the teal simulation soldier, who was carrying the Alpha, met her halfway and then the two seemingly decided to go together to speak with O'Malley, who had stopped to hide amongst some of the rocks, undoubtedly seeking security in the crevices. The Alpha reappeared in a distant flash of light, seemingly part of the conversation being held.

"She is being accompanied by Church now, as well as Private Tucker," Delta replied. "I assume she will be fine."

"Right."

The concern was understandable, considering Agent Iowa's distrust of the AIs in general, especially Omega and Sigma. Delta didn't entire trust his siblings either. Still, Delta's observations of the situation and the individuals involved caused him to lean in favor of stepping back. Omega was angry with Sigma and had some inclination to keep Ada alive. The Alpha could diffuse his Aggression well enough, so the encounter was likely going to peter out into a sulking standstill once Omega let Ada investigate his host's injuries.

Delta flinched when he realized Iowa had not left. He was mildly surprised that the soldier had taken Delta's analysis to heart; normally, the paranoid man would have brushed it off and go after Ada and O'Malley.

They were alone, standing there by the rocks. While it was comforting to note that the AI containment unit was being monitored by one of the more capable soldiers, Delta felt inclined to be bitter that it was Iowa of all people.

The silence dragged on. Delta did not want to retreat first, though he certainly could have. He stared out after Ada, ignoring the human next to him, and vaguely noted his hypothesis was correct: O'Malley was now sitting down next to Ada. O'Malley didn't project contentment, but at least he was calmer.

"So…"

Delta forced himself to give Iowa a degree of attention at the noise. The soldier was watching him, his human eyes likely just as carefully observing Delta as the AI was observing him.

"Any rumors you wanna share about our bickering duo, Dee?" Iowa asked, mostly in humor.

Delta felt a flare of what could have been anger. He approved of it, if it was.

"Do not call me that," he snapped, turning his full attention and projection to the ex-Freelancer, making sure his reaction was appropriately noticed.

Iowa glanced back at the AI in surprise. "Sorry. Don't like nicknames?"

"That name is not for you to use, Agent Iowa," the AI replied, indifferent to insulting the man. "You do not have the right."

"Shit. Okay," Iowa said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He sounded sincere, however. "No harm intended."

If the ex-Freelancer was fishing for answers in Ada's place, he would be no more successful. Delta felt wrong for hiding information from Ada, but he felt no such consequence for ignoring Iowa. He was resolved to wait the human out.

Human curiosity and its demand for answers were formidable rivals, however. Iowa remained where he was, staring at the AI, and eventually moved to sit down on one of the nearby rocks.

Delta turned to look at the man with a level look; he anticipated his behavior would unnerve Iowa. He was partially right, since the human didn't speak right away, but he eventually braced his hands on his knees.

"Look, Delta, I know you don't like me," Iowa said, sighing loudly. "But is it just my imagination that you've been acting like you wouldn't mind kicking me out of a moving shuttle while in deep space?"

Ah, so that's what this was. Iowa was intending to ask about Delta's decision to communicate as little as possible with the soldier. It was understandable and also acted upon at a predictable time. Delta wondered how long Iowa had waited for an opportunity to speak alone with the AI.

It occurred to Delta at that point that, yes, perhaps it was time to speak with Iowa about… other matters.

"Human imagination is an unfathomable quality," Delta told him, observing him carefully, analyzing the situation, deciding if it were an appropriate time.

They wouldn't find the chance to speak alone, away from prying ears or a suspicious Sigma. At this point, she wasn't listening in. It was a rare opportunity.

"Seriously," Iowa said, sounding a bit firmer. He dismissed Delta's vague comment and sat forward in a way that gave the implication he was looking at Delta with far more intensity than before. "What's your problem with me? I don't like this passive-aggressive ignoring crap. If our resident psychos are having their little meltdown, I say it might be a good time for me and you to get our shit on the table, too."

Delta stared back at him, waiting and contemplating.

"I know what you did," he said, after one last moment of consideration.

He was used to gauging reactions of humans carefully. He had learned the hard way in the beginning of his existence that his bluntness could alienate allies and further agitated opponents. York often critiqued his lack of subtlety. He was far better at weighing his responses prior to announcing them and making the objective decision that the comment would not be taken the wrong way.

He was also used to anticipating reactions. Humans were sometimes predictable creatures, especially for Delta, who knew very well by that point how words could evoke varying reactions.

Iowa stilled, his entire body going as stiff as the stone beneath him. Delta waited. No one was nearing them and it seemed like they'd continue to be alone for an uninterrupted period. It was plenty of time for the thorough conversation that Delta predicted would come.

It took a few seconds longer than Delta had anticipated, but he was not incorrect with his hypothesis. Iowa did not react in the exact manner he had expected, either.

Exhaling lowly and long, Iowa reached up to his own head. He took off his helmet and let the armor piece hang in his hand at his side. The man looked weary, like the others in their midst, with dark rings around his eyes and deep lines that showed age. Delta had memorized the features of most of the humans he encountered and knew that the man was suffering just as much physically as the others had from their choice to run.

Delta did not feel sympathy. Not for this human, at any rate.

Iowa nodded, the gesture slow and stiff. His eyes did not leave Delta's. If anything, he had courage, Delta mused.

" _Jesus_ ," Iowa swore softly. He nodded again. "Okay."

He looked back at the ground, exhaled sharply again, and seemed to be thinking. Delta decided to let the man choose the next move. Iowa bounced his knee a few times, a nervous gesture, before looking back up at the AI floating in the air.

"Well?" he asked, sitting back further, his body feigning ease. He was very good at hiding his discomfort, though there was a slight tremor to his voice that he could not hide from the AI. "Want to go grab your siblings, snag a body, and beat the shit out of me? I'll stay still for the first two hits."

Delta continued to stare, knowing it unnerved him. "I do not understand."

Iowa's jaw tensed briefly. "I feel guilty. More guilt than I can put into words, but unlike most sorry bastards out there, I know that doesn't mean shit," he said, motioning with his hand. "I regret ever signing up for this army. I regret obeying their orders until that last time. I sure as hell regret that any of this happened."

"I see," Delta said, considering this.

It was obvious, watching the ex-Freelancer after their escape, that the man was feeling an emotional response to his actions. Guilt was a logical assumption. Iowa was also correct to say that such feelings mattered little.

Guilt did not fix anything. Delta knew this fact intimately.

"Do you hate me?" Iowa asked, unnerved by the quiet AI.

Such a question was amusing, if only just. Delta considered the implications of it. Did Iowa expect hate for his actions? Did it matter to him? Iowa had shown perhaps not dislike for the AIs, but a clear disassociation. There was little reason outside of wanting to keep the peace—which was a logical enough reason, Delta had to admit—for the ex-agent to want to know that Delta did not hate him. There were few other reasons why Iowa would be worried if Delta hated him.

"I do not have the capacity for hate," Delta said, biding his time as he continued to collect data.

He didn't. He didn't hate Iowa. He was no sure if he could in the future or if he would want to. At that point in time, he did not and that was enough of an answer.

Iowa's lips twitched. "I'm not so sure about that."

"I am," Delta informed him coolly, making sure the human was paying perfect attention. "But rest assured, Agent Iowa, I do not trust you. I trusted you very little during the rehabilitation program and I do not trust you now."

"To be honest, that's a lot better than I deserve," the man said, eyes crinkled.

Delta continued his blank stare. "I know."

Iowa was not known for his direct seriousness. He was a dangerous man for his intellect on the field and his ability to feign emotions to keep his anger or ill intentions unseen. Delta was surprised by Iowa's change at that point as he stopped smiling and fixed the AI with a severe expression.

"Delta, I know you don't trust me with your siblings or this mission. I know that. I don't deserve you guys treating me anything less than a means to an end. The idea that Zeta might know… that is fucking hard for me to swallow, but there's nothing I can do to fix this," he said, struggling visibly to speak those words. "But please. I can only ask that you trust one thing."

"And that is?"

"I love Ada," Iowa said. He swallowed hard. "I'm in love with her. I've been for months."

Delta did his best to remain indifferent.

"I know," he said.

It had been obvious, from both Iowa's direct and indirect actions. The Mother's Day incident had been what confirmed in quantifiable evidence that Iowa was romantically interested in Ada. Iowa's subsequent dedication to keeping Ada alive—thus far—had shown an increased emotional desire on Iowa's part to remain a part of Ada's life.

Iowa blinked. "Oh," he said, surprised at Delta's lack of surprise.

Delta brought his holographic form into a straighter position. "I do not trust you with her safety."

"I would never hurt her," Iowa started to say, the vehemence in his voice familiar whenever the topic was brought up.

"I have seen what love is capable of. I have seen it fail," Delta continued, knowing he sounded harsh. He deliberately chose that. "I myself have experienced its failures. Love or romantic attraction will not protect Ada from your mistakes."

Iowa's jaw tensed again. "I know."

Delta observed the human's micro-movements and tried to understand why the man seemed so focused. "Why do you want me to trust you?" he asked.

"Because you're the smartest guy here," Iowa said, without hesitance. "You're the one we're going to rely a lot on for plans or at least for catching mistakes. You're the last guy I want wishing me dead."

"I do not," Delta admitted. It would be a waste of resources. He wasn't a large advocate of violence as a default, unless it warranted logical benefits. Iowa was a useful asset at that point in time. Ada, most likely, did not want him dead either.

Iowa snorted, but seemed to accept his answer. "That's reassuring. I also want to know that you can trust me to not be gunning to let you down on purpose."

It would be impossible to just trust that Iowa was not going to betray them later. Delta understood that at that point in time, they had his loyalty, but situations changed. It was illogical to trust a man implicitly after that man had betrayed them once, that they knew of.

"I do not doubt your resolve, Agent Iowa. I have been analyzing your behavior, specifically around Ada and my siblings. Aside from the incident with Xi and Omega, you have done nothing outwardly that has endangered us," Delta said, choosing his words as carefully as always. "I acknowledge the tactical and physical benefits of trusting you, to a degree, in our escape attempts."

"Right," Iowa said, nodding.

"I do not have a right to bar your interactions with Ada or my siblings. You have a need to and I acknowledge that you have apparent trustworthy intentions towards them at this point in time," Delta continued. He hovered closer in the air between them, knowing the human was listening closely. "But in my limited capacity to inflict physical warning and the threat of potential harm, I would like to take this opportunity to inform you that I will not be pleased if you betray us again, in any manner of the definition."

An amused expression flickered across Iowa's face. However, it was not purely amusement. Delta detected traces of discomfort and even irritation in the human's expression.

"Wow. Is this the best friend's 'I know where to hide bodies if you hurt her feelings' talk?" Iowa asked, his smile strained.

"This is the 'if you harm my family again, I will do far worse than kill you' talk," Delta replied, voice deliberately altered to register as cold as possible to the human understanding of emotional responses.

That earned him the appropriate response for once. Iowa's eyebrows went up and it took him a moment to find something to say. "Damn."

Delta had once had the highest regard for maintaining human life when possible. Iowa was, by current standards, an ally. Threatening potential allies, or even potential pawns, was not a logical move to engender continued loyalty.

But Delta did not care.

Delta meant every word he had said.

It did not startle him as much as he thought. He knew that it would have amused and worried York at the same time. Ada would have been incredibly upset to hear it, but perhaps she would have been intrigued by his unexpected emotional comment.

Delta stared at Iowa, who seemed to be regarding him far more carefully now. It was all Delta had to offer in terms of establishing his actual thoughts and intentions on the matter.

If Iowa betrayed them again, Delta would not hide the knowledge from their other allies. He would let Sigma rally up the others to gain vengeance. He would make sure that Iowa suffered appropriately.

It might have been too large a risk to take, trusting this man a second time. Second chances, according to York, were good things.

But York had given Texas a second chance. He had given the notion of fighting against the Meta and Freelancer a second chance.

It had killed him.

Delta would not allow history to repeat itself. He would not be lax in his observations of Iowa's actions. If deceit was found, he found the only logical maneuver to be one made in the absence of mercy.

Iowa cleared his throat and crossed his arms against his armored chest.

"Well, I'm glad," the human said at length.

"You are glad?" Delta asked, surprised.

Iowa flashed him a self-depreciating grin. "I swear that I will never hurt you guys, not intentionally, and even then you'll have to get in line to kick my ass, 'cause I'll find a way to do it myself first," he said. "But promise me something, Delta."

"What?"

"Promise me that you will do far worse than kill me if I fuck up like that again."

Delta stared at the human. He could not detect any signs of deceit or manipulation in Iowa's expression, words, or voice. The ex-Freelancer's blue eyes were intense in their observation of Delta's form. There was a chance he was lying or just trying to exaggerate his previous declarations in order to alleviate the suspicions against him.

There was also the chance that Iowa meant what he said. There was minor empirical evidence that showed Iowa was telling the truth. He had had ample time to betray them in the last week, between the firefight and their travels. He could have been telling the truth.

"Consider it a promise," Delta said, deciding to take that chance.

"Good," Iowa said, chuckling. He nodded his head at the AI. "I'm glad we could reach an agreement."

Delta flickered in the air. "Indeed."

**End Chapter 14.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, an opportunity of overwhelming proportions lands in our wayward heroes' laps. Too bad it's literally the worst idea ever.
> 
> **A/Ns** :  
> -I am having the worst time writing Sarge in this fic. I apologize for him being so flat and un-Sarge-like. I'm trying, really.  
> -Uh oh, Sigma. I wonder why they're so pissed off with you. I WONDER.  
> -One of the AU features of this fic I'm determined to keep in, despite canon updates that should "fix" my AU parts, is the Epsilon-Wash incident. I wasn't really satisfied with the canon representation of it, since we were given the impression prior to S10 that it was pretty awful for Wash, and yet in the hospital scene afterwards, he just seems confused. SO. I decided to make it more horrific and with more backlash in this fic. Because tortured Wash makes for better fic.  
> -I also seem to enjoy having O'Malley beaten up a lot. Whoops.  
> -Every so often I have mentioned Delta needing to "recharge." In my headcanon (the one that that is desperate for science), it's impractical to suggest that the AIs can be powered indefinitely. They just have really good batteries. To keep them from draining the armor of their hosts here, however, they recharge in the containment unit. Because of reasons.  
> -this chapter was probably the longest ever what the hell happened everyone stop talking goddamn it


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Doc decides to (re)join the party and compromises are made, our heroes overhear a rumor. A pretty interesting rumor. A very, very dangerous rumor.
> 
> OKAY. So, I sort of started the buffer. In order to compensate, **we're going to aim for every other week updates**. I wish I could do every week, but I'd rather get you guys chapters methodically instead of running the risk of another hiatus for even longer. If I don't update for a few weeks incidentally, it's because of the buffer attempt, most likely. **Expect the next update after this one by July 23**. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

 

Doc blinked.

Behind his visor, not much had changed. He was very surprised to see that he wasn't in the Warthog anymore. He was now sitting against what felt like a tree looking out the Warthogs and some of the Reds and Blues. He definitely didn't remember leaving the jeep. But that was by far not the strangest thing.

The most alarming thing he noticed was that he hurt. All over. Stiffly raising his arms, he gingerly touched his shoulders and then legs.

 _O'Malley?_ He thought, curious and a bit worried. What had the AI been _doing_ with his—their—body?

O'Malley was still there. Doc had gotten quite used to what an AI felt like, hovering in the back of his mind like a cloud. Lately, of course, O'Malley was nothing like a cloud and more like a fog (spilling out everywhere in a way he had never done before) but he could still feel him. Doc frowned at the lack of response. O'Malley was off to the side… though that made little sense out of context, Doc realized. It did feel like O'Malley was deliberately "out of the way," however, from whatever made up _Doc_ and whatever made up the AI borrowing space next to him.

 _O'Malley, what happened?_ He asked again. There was nothing but a ripple of what felt like distinctly irritable and negativity that just didn't sit well with Doc normally. O'Malley didn't feel like talking. In fact, Doc was rather certain the AI was "recharging," something that usually only happened when both were asleep. O'Malley generally didn't like Doc doing things when O'Malley wasn't also at the controls.

Especially nowadays, Doc mused.

Something had worn the AI out. Doc looked around warily. They were no longer on the beach. In fact, he was sure there was snow falling now. It seemed colder, too. He knew the area had weird weather, however, so he decided asking about the scenery change was less important than other questions.

The others who were by the jeep were talking amongst themselves. Frowning, Doc tried to stand upright, but it only sent a sharp, stabbing feeling of pain go down his right leg. He winced, but pushed onwards until he was standing.

 _Ow_ , he thought.

At the Warthog, he saw Simmons, Grif, Sister, and Tucker talking. They didn't sound happy. Doc winced as he limped towards them. Sister was lounging on the back of the Warthog, looking at her brother and friends upside down. Tucker was gesturing back towards the hill, where Doc had seen some of the others in their own group.

After what seemed like way too long of a walk, Doc reached the Warthog.

"Why does my body hurt so much?" he asked, when he finally stepped up behind Tucker.

The teal soldier jumped and spun around. He looked startled as he took in Doc's form.

"Huh?" he asked. He hesitated. "Um…Doc?"

"Yes?" Doc replied, unsure about Tucker's reaction. Sure, he had been 'gone' for a bit, but really now, they forgot about him so quickly. He waved anyway. "Hi, guys! What've you been up to?"

Tucker and Grif exchanged looks. Sister was peering at him with open curiosity. Simmons didn't exactly look happy.

"Uhm, stuff," Tucker said, without much pomp. "Where's O'Malley?"

Doc shrugged. "Recharging, I think."

The dark cloud in the back of his head rumbled, but didn't react much otherwise. Doc wished he knew how to block the AI, just to let him get some rest.

"Recharging?" Grif repeated, confused. He interrupted Doc's reply. "Whatever, we don't care. So, he's not in your head right now?"

"Oh, he's still there," Doc said, rubbing his arm lightly. Beneath his armor, he could feel the bruises. "Just… sleeping?"

"That's weird," Sister said, folding her hands on her stomach as she continued to stare at them upside down.

"Yeah, it's strange. But for real, I feel horrible!" Doc said, not understanding why Grif flinched when he moved to lean against the Warthog to take some of the pressure off of his legs. "My ankle especially."

Again, his friends looked at each other quickly before looking back at him.

"Do you not…remember…" Simmons asked, wary. "Lunch?"

Doc stared at him. "Lunch?" No…?

They looked at each other again. It was beginning to make Doc feel nervous.

Sister seemed surprised. "Not even the robot death match?"

"The _what_? !" Doc exclaimed.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Tucker asked, impatient.

"Uhhh, we were driving. We left the last outpost and we were driving," Doc said, trying to recall. He tapped the side of his helmet thoughtfully. "I think O'Malley was irritated because his sister kept talking to him, but then we were _here_!" He looked back at them. "Where is here?"

Simmons sighed a little. "We're like a little more than a half of a kilometer out from the base we're going to sneak into."

Doc brightened. At least they had made progress! "Oh. That's nice. Wow, is the sun already setting?" he asked, looking out at the horizon. They weren't on the water anymore. They were right near a huge grove of pines.

Tucker didn't seem happy. He leaned a bit closer, catching the purple medic's attention. "Uhh, Doc? I think O'Malley blocked you out, because we did more than just walking today," he said.

That information wasn't really new to Doc at that point. He looked around again and saw the others further up the hill they were parked on. There was more snow falling now too. He sure had lost more time than usual, he pondered. He could only hope O'Malley hadn't gotten into too much trouble.

"Oh. Well, he does that sometimes. Not often, though, which is strange, but I'm not complaining," Doc said at length, deciding it wasn't worth getting too upset about at that point. "What'd I miss?"

"Sigma beat the shit out of you," Grif said, blunt as always.

Sigma? The pink robot who was in Donut a lot? Doc opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped, trying to remember. He didn't remember anything about a fight or about getting beat up.

"Oh," he said, slowly. "Well, that might explain why my body hurts." Oww.

"Do you have any idea why?" Simmons asked.

Doc shook his head. "Nope," he said. He paused. "I could try to ask him, but he seems grumpy."

As if highlighting his point, O'Malley stirred and projected clear _disdain_ for all the noise. Too bad the Reds and Blues couldn't feel it, too.

Luckily, against their usual habit of going full steam ahead and pushing the question, they made it seem like they were out of time to bother asking more.

"Let's just drop it for now," Simmons said, which prompted Tucker to nod. "The AIs are acting really, really weird, Doc."

"Haven't they always?" Doc asked. "Not that there's anything bad about weird, or anything, but—"

Tucker interrupted him. "This is like extra weird. Are you sure that you don't know of any reason why the AIs would, like, turn on each other? We don't think O'Malley did anything this time, but have you seen or heard anything that could have prompted this?"

Doc couldn't think of an answer. He knew that O'Malley really didn't like his sister and the feeling seemed to be shared. Doc thought that was a shame, honestly. O'Malley had finally gotten back most of his family and shunning them seemed like a bad idea.

But…if they were telling the truth about Sigma attacking them unprovoked, Doc felt a little more uneasy about being so close to the AI. O'Malley had gone out of his way to stay away from the AIs. Sigma was the one who kept pushing it. Doc had wanted to say it was a good thing but…

His ankle throbbed. Doc frowned and decided not to question it further. If O'Malley was up for talking later, he'd ask. For now, he wanted to see where they had put their medical kit. His legs and stomach really _hurt_.

"No," he said, shoulders slumping a little. "I think they had been talking, you know, using their robot way of talking during the trip. I remember O'Malley being really sour about it, but I don't remember anything after that."

"Damn," Simmons said, exhaling heavily.

Doc frowned, feeling guilty over not having any answers and wishing he could offer more. He could have pushed O'Malley a bit, but the AI was trying to sleep. Doc didn't want to wake him up too soon—

Tucker suddenly flinched, looking around Doc's shoulders in surprise. Doc turned around and nearly jumped back on his injured ankle when he came helmet-to-helmet with a familiar blue face.

Startled, Doc smiled behind his visor.

"Oh, hi, Wash!" he said. He peered up at the silent ex-Freelancer and tried to ignore the chill emanating from him. "Sorry I haven't had the chance to really talk to you. How're things?"

"They're terrible," Wash said. Doc winced at his flat tone; anger simmered in his voice, barely detectable. "I bear no fucking responsibility for this. Do not fuck this up."

"Huh?" Doc asked, surprised.

Doc really did jump back when Wash stepped to the side and the instinct to hide from an approaching fist or assault overcame him. Thankfully, Wash just moved to the side and when he did, he revealed Iowa and Dr. Livingston, along with the other Reds and Blues. They were all staring at him.

 _Huh?_ Doc repeated, feeling oddly…singled out.

"Mr. DuFresne, do you have a moment?" Dr. Livingston asked, tentative.

"Apparently?" Doc replied, wary. He knew enough about these people to know being singled out for a talk was rarely good news. "Uh, what's wrong?"

Iowa crossed his arms against his chest plates. "We've been trying to figure out plans for our next move. We're worried about Omega and Sigma jumping ship. Literally," the ex-Freelancer said. "We want to lock them down."

Doc was shocked. "Lock them down?"

"O'Malley doesn't want to leave your armor, right?" Iowa continued, ignoring his reaction.

"Right…?" Doc said. He was a trusting guy by nature, because he always did want to believe the best in people, but he felt a traitorous wall of leeriness rise up in the back of his mind, almost swamping out the dark feelings of O'Malley.

Iowa peered down at him. "Then what do you feel about locking him in there for now?"

Off to the side, Wash made a low sound. Doc looked over at him, but the blank visor told him nothing more about what the man was thinking. Doc reluctantly looked back at Iowa.

"Locking him _in_?" he repeated. "You mean, opposite of turning off my radio?"

He tried to picture it, but it was harder to imagine being suddenly cut off from communications with O'Malley already inside his helmet. Doc wasn't too worried about having him being stuck there, though, considering he was already in there and intended to stay for a bit.

Doc 'peered' at the dark figure in the back of his brain and wondered if O'Malley would mind. He hadn't reacted to the conversation, and even while asleep, he'd have reacted in irritation over something he didn't like filtering across Doc's thoughts.

"Well, sort of," Dr. Livingston said, reluctant as well, but probably for different reasons. "We can lock down the AI memory unit in your suit, so he can't transfer out like he is usually capable of and—"

Behind him, Tucker, Grif and Simmons all seemed to react at once.

"Whoaaa, lock him in? Like, trap Doc in there with him?" Tucker asked, alarmed. He looked over to the side. "You're okay with this, Wash?"

"The hell I am," Wash spat, sounding murderous. "I had no hand in this."

Tucker peered at his friend. "Why are you, like, not losing your shit then?"

Doc could only imagine what _that_ was supposed to mean.

"Because," Wash began, sounding choked.

" _Because_ he knows it's the best choice for now," Iowa interrupted, turning his head slightly to face Wash. "It's the best chance we have at getting everyone out of here at once, without distractions."

"Best?" Wash repeated, angrier. He motioned with his arm harshly. "The _best_ choice would be to let these AIs rot."

Dr. Livingston's face immediately went darker. "Not a chance," she said, voice cold.

"Well, that's fine and dandy for you, but what about Doc?" Sarge butted in, peering around to look at her.

"Ummm," Doc began, catching their attentions again. He hesitated and pointed at his helmet. "I mean, he's already in my head, right? Sooo…"

Wash suddenly turned and seemed to be glaring at the medic. "Doc, do you understand what this means? He won't be able to jump out of your helmet and you'd be stuck with him until we unlock it."

"But he's already in here," Doc said, not understanding what the big deal was. "He, um, doesn't seem like he was going to leave anytime soon, so I figure it's not that… bad?"

Wash _stared_ at him.

"Not that bad," the blue and yellow soldier deadpanned, parroting Doc's words back at him as if spitting poison.

Doc swallowed. "Um." He didn't exactly know what the best answer was to give him.

"Washington, like we discussed, it's temporary," Iowa said, thankfully distracting Wash. "And it's mainly for our peace of mind, isn't it? We can't be worried about these guys jumping and losing track of them."

Tucker peered at his own side panel. "Why aren't you locking _Church_ down?"

"Why the fuck would I leave?" Church asked, suddenly reemerging into view.

Iowa shrugged. "We have plans for him anyway."

"That sounds creepy," Sister commented from her perch.

Church shimmered in the air, which looked rather pretty with the snow falling through him. "Shut up, I volunteered."

"Since when were you this freaking on board with this stuff?" Tucker asked, laughing in a not-quite-happy way.

"Shut up, I just don't want to get captured again, idiot," Church replied, harsh as always. He suddenly moved forward towards Doc and seemed hurried. "Doc, you've handled Omeg—O'Malley well enough, right? So, whatever, deal with it for a few more hours."

Doc considered it. "I can do that."

Church looked back at the others. "See? No problem."

"Sigma's thankfully still sulking and didn't argue about being locked down in the AI unit," Dr. Livingston added. She sighed. "We should be thankful for that."

Simmons looked back at his sergeant and then the ex-Freelancers. "What if we need her to kick ass in Donut's body again?"

"She was really nice to me, anyway," Donut said, sounding disappointed.

"We'll cross that bridge later," Iowa said. "For now, the AIs are staying put."

"Whoopee," Grif grumbled. "Let's get going."

Doc felt like he was floundering. He had no idea what was going on, or what had happened, but everyone seemed so busy. He didn't want to interrupt their plans—he presumed that they were still aiming to borrow a shuttle from that UNSC supply place?—so he found himself willingly standing back to watch.

Tapping his fingers together nervously, Doc wondered if he should have volunteered to do something other than keep O'Malley in his helmet. Iowa was talking about reconnaissance missions and Wash, he had been talking about…

Doc felt a twinge of…not panic, but not a good kind of surprise either, when he saw Wash was walking away. He was stomping through the dusting of snow on the ground, clearly displeased. Doc knew it wasn't entirely his fault for what was going on, but he felt guilty for making Wash worry.

It wasn't that bad. At least, not for Doc.

"Wash?" Doc called. In the back of his head, O'Malley made a hissing noise and surged forward a little, but didn't try to stop him. He was probably too tired.

Wash halted at the sound of his voice and turned his head to him. Doc gaped at him, unable to say anything more.

Why did he feel so…bad? He was worried about Wash. He had done what he thought was the right thing—and that meant getting O'Malley out of Wash's head, when Wash was the one who suffered the most while withstanding an AI in his head. It was Wash who needed help getting past the things that had hurt him so badly. Doc had just wanted…

He had just wanted to help.

And somehow, he realized he had done the exact opposite.

Wash stared at him, blank and untouchable, and then turned around to keep walking.

Doc felt his shoulders slump and could not shake that choking sense of failure.

It wasn't fair.

He flinched when Tucker stepped up beside him, clearly looking at Wash leave as well.

"He is seriously such a drama queen," the teal soldier said, irritated. He turned and started toward where the others had moved to. "Come on, let's move."

"Move where?" Doc asked, trying to keep himself focused on what was about to happen.

Things were moving. He had to pay attention and not… not… keep messing up things worse than they already were.

He still wanted to talk to Wash, however. Maybe… maybe later.

He'd just have to count on _later_.

"We have a plan," Sarge said, sounding both tired and excited. "And damned if it isn't the boldest thing we've done in months."

**0000**

The plan was pretty straight forward, but it was still crazy as hell.

Tucker wasn't exactly jumping for joy that he was part of the recon mission, but he was a little pleased over the fact that Wash still clearly trusted his judgment on some things. Iowa, supposedly coming from a recon-background, was too busy outlining their main plan to go himself. They needed someone almost as good. Not that Tucker was Freelancer-material, but he was probably one of the more coherent simulation soldiers (though no one said that out loud, to Tucker's disappointment). He could be trusted to gather somewhat important intel and figure out what was the most vital information to bring back to establish their final stretch of the plans.

It wasn't too dangerous. Wash had gone over it three times; by the middle of the second time, Tucker started to ignore him, because it really wasn't complicated.

The craziest part about it was that they were waiting. _Waiting_ to break into a place they were already spying on. Wash and Iowa were used to their elaborate missions from years ago, but Tucker was still more of the mindset of "Fuck It, Full Steam Ahead." That had rarely gone horrible for the Reds or Blues, even if they had had some close calls due to their choices to wing things.

Tucker wasn't pleased with it. He acknowledged they needed to bide their time carefully with taking the shuttle, however, so he bit his tongue and went about selecting his partner for the mission, in case things went south and they had to run for it back to their camp, a mile away.

Of all people, Sister volunteered to go.

"I don't know _anything_ about what's going on," she complained, ignoring her brother's demands she not go. "Let me at least, like, pretend to be useful."

"I don't know if we have that much collective imagination," Wash deadpanned. He pointedly ignored Grif's death glare.

It wasn't like they were going in for a fight. Tucker didn't care really one way or the other. Church was coming along with him as planned and seemed irritated the preparations were taking so long. Tucker wasn't planning on a firefight anyway, so if Sister wanted to sit and watch (hopefully quietly), it didn't matter.

At dusk, just as the sun began to set, they moved. It felt like days since they left the last outpost, but it really had just been several hours. Tucker couldn't believe they were that close to nabbing a shuttle to leave that stupid, cursed moon. That thought alone made it difficult to sneak through the snow instead of running straight onto the base to get it over with already.

Tucker was both impressed and annoyed by their moon's bizarre geography. They had traveled a moderate distance, sure, but the snowy patches that sometimes hit Valhalla had replaced the beaches and warmer weather out of no where. It was snowing and they were surrounded by tall almost-pine-trees. It made sneaking a little easier with all that cover, but the snow made them stick out painfully (particularly due to his and Sister's brightly color armor).

Sister was far more patient with the mission that Tucker had given her credit for at first. She walked quietly behind him, ducking exaggeratedly whenever he did, and didn't say much as they took a longer, sloping path around the base. Church, grumbling but paying close attention to his part of the job, kept them going in the right direction with his mental map. Tucker wondered where the map came from, but he had to figure it was just another robot thing.

The UNSC base had been more active during the war, acting like a refueling station for ships that didn't have the time to land on Nexus IV. It was mainly used for incoming soldiers headed to the training grounds or archeological sites. Tucker frowned as the somewhat-stout, white buildings came into view between thick pine-like branches. It looked like any other military base. It was probably populated by a smaller crew than normal, since they were often visited by a constant shifting of military forces. If they caught the base at a time when most of the visiting military guests were leaving or hadn't arrived yet, the fleeing fugitives could escape having too many enemies on site.

"Move up to that shed," Church instructed, once they slid down an icy hill. Tucker winced; the snow was building up pretty quick. "We can settle in there. Nobody's around, I don't think."

"You don't _think_?" Tucker repeated.

"No one's there. Stop questioning me."

Tucker rolled his eyes, but led them as quickly and silently as he could to the shed. It was perched right beyond the double fence line that made up the perimeter of the base. Tucker imagined the shed was used mainly for equipment for exterior base use, like maintenance for the forest if a tree fell or something. He slid up to the metal shack and leaned carefully around the edge. No one was near that section of the base. They were clear.

"This close enough?" he asked, whispering. If his helmet had been off, his breath probably would have been an icy cloud. It was almost too dark to see off into the depths of the base, where only a few men were still milling around.

Church nodded and seemed to buzz in the air, clearly focused on something.

Sister crouched near Tucker's side. "This is so cool, I feel like a spy!" she said, whispering but strangely loud at the same time.

Tucker glanced at her. "Yeah, it's cool, until we get caught because you're talking too loud." She pouted.

"Both of you shut up," Church snapped. The AI was positioned between them and was seemingly focused on something the humans couldn't hear or see. "I'm trying to listen."

Tucker frowned. "Listen? To what?"

"The radio," Church said, distracted.

"Using your AI powers?" Tucker asked, smirking.

"Shut up, Delta told me how to do this. It's actually not that hard," Church said, indignant.

"Is he like the Obi-Wan to your Luke Skywalker? Or are you Vader and Epsilon was your Luke?"

"Shut the fuck up, you nerd."

Tucker sighed and leaned his elbow on a short, rusted barrel next to the shed. It seemed calm at the base, which was good. The last thing they needed was chaos or heightened security.

…though, Tucker thought, his eyes narrowing slowly as he took in the visuals, something was… decidedly off about what he was look at.

There were a lot of people. More people than they had been expecting. People milling around, people moving lots of cargo, and some lines of soldiers who hadn't gone off active duty yet. Not enough people to warrant worries about the UNSC expecting them, but enough that it was decidedly strange for a supply base.

Tucker frowned, trying his best to decide what he should have been paying attention to. It wasn't clear enough to just get a head count on people there; he knew that something was up if so many soldiers were there on the supposedly supply-only base.

They weren't on high alert, however. It didn't make sense if they were there just on the off chance the runaway simulation and ex-Freelancer soldiers were headed that way. They were only UNSC soldiers, too. No Freelancer armor or sigils were to be found. It was weird.

Maybe it was something else, unrelated to them, Tucker thought. Just soldiers passing through? Maybe they just came on an unlucky shift change?

"I wonder why they have so many soldiers," he murmured out loud.

"Ssh! I'm trying to find out," Church said. Tucker rolled his eyes, the AI not seeing the gesture.

"I'm just wondering," Tucker mumbled. He continued to glare at the moving UNSC soldiers.

It just seemed odd to him. If Church had also noticed and was trying to figure it out, maybe it wasn't a misguided concern.

Sister sighed. "What are we waiting for?" she asked, a frown in her voice.

Tucker shrugged. "I don't even know. We have to get in there close enough so that Church can grab their shipping time sheet. I don't know why the other AIs couldn't just like hack into the system themselves."

"I thought the two crazy ones got grounded, though."

"Delta could hack the Internet before, so I don't know what's holding him back this time."

Next to them, Church made a sound of annoyance. "You can't _hack_ the Internet, Tucker. Besides, we're not stealing the shipping time sheet, we already got that, _courtesy of Delta_. You just weren't paying attention," he said, irritable. " _We_ are getting an estimate on how many people are here, who's armed, and what kind of ships they actually have."

Stupid smart robots. "Man, this is just stupid," Tucker complained, resting his chin on the barrel. If they really had to watch these people, he wanted to actually get something concrete, not just wait for Church to do something vague and ambiguous.

Church snorted. "No, it's just you who's stu—hey."

"Huh?" Tucker asked, glancing at the AI.

The white AI flickered a little. Tucker was beginning to realize that was a way to see an AI's emotional state. Church seemed startled. "Wait…" he began, as if he were hearing something important.

Tucker waited, tense. Church wouldn't have waited like that like a freaking cocktease if the information was super vital, as in _Enemies Coming Our Way_ vital. Still, anything that made Church pause like that had to be big news.

Finally, as if struck by an invisible lightening bolt, Church jolted upwards.

"Holy fucking shit," the AI said, the words jumbled.

Tucker gripped the wall and pushed towards him. "What? !" he demanded.

"Listen to this recording," Church said, sounding way too overeager to be giving them good news. "This just went over the radio."

"What did—?"

"— _in the snow. How were we supposed to know it was so freaking important?_ "

Tucker froze at the sound of an unknown man speaking. It was coming from where Church was, however, so he had to imagine it wasn't anyone there. Church had said the radio, hadn't he?

" _I don't know, man, but it's not our business now._ "

Another speaker.

" _No,_ now _we're in trouble because we didn't log it as high-level priority in the first place._ "

" _Clean up was_ such _a mess. That Washington guy was easy enough to throw in a ditch, but we only found, like, half of that Meta guy. Gross,_ " the second guy said, sounding annoyed. " _But for real, were you there when we had to take that box thing in?_ "

" _Box thing? Oh, you mean the artifact_."

A chill went down Tucker's spine.

" _Yeah, the long, oval glowing thing_ ," the second man continued. " _I thought it was just one of those weird alien artifacts. It's not our fault they didn't tell us it was classified Freelancer stuff_!"

The first man snorted. " _Well, who cares? It's still over at Outpost 93 and not our business anymore. They can go get it themselves. I hope they enjoy the sub-zero temperatures._ "

" _Right. I just hope this doesn't go on my permanent record—_ "

The voices cut off, as if Church had decided that was enough to hear. Tucker found himself momentarily unable to speak. He wasn't sure that he had heard everything correctly.

If he had heard them right and his mind had deduced correctly what had gotten Church so riled…

Tucker felt a little numb.

"Are they talking about… what I think they're talking about?" he asked.

He remembered their battle at Sidewinder with the Meta. He remembered the cold and the panic of fighting a Freelancer monster that had little trouble kicking the shit out of both Tex and Wash. That was a fight that wasn't exactly going to be leaving his memory any time soon.

He also remembered what they had been forced to leave behind there.

"They are," Church said. He seemed just as stunned as Tucker felt.

"What are they talking about?" Sister asked, still bewildered.

The white AI hovering between them flickered wildly.

"Epsilon," Church said, sounding as breathless as a being without lungs could sound. "We just found Epsilon."

**0000**

Iowa had literally just sat down when Tucker and Sister came back up, running straight for the center of camp.

 _Oh, nuts_ , he thought, absently reaching for his rifle. If they had brought the UNSC armada with them, he would have hoped that Church would have thought to rush ahead to warn them. He hoped it was just a smaller squad they could easily dispose of.

Wash had tensed up and walked over from their impromptu table (made up of their only two supply cases) where they had been discussing the logistics of taking over the space-class shuttle Delta had discovered was headed towards a northern Nexus base in twelve hours. Hopping on that and escaping into the neighboring marshes and then slipping into the nearest city would give them the best chance of remaining unnoticed for the longest period of time. It seemed sane enough.

Ignoring their concerned comrades and Wash's demand for a sit-rep, Tucker braced forward on his knees while Sister collapsed into the snow with a groan in front of them all.

"Change of plan, losers," Tucker said, breathless. "We're not leaving."

"Excuse me?" Iowa asked, not lowering his gun.

He was not the only one who had startled. Most of the Reds and Blues seemed utterly baffled. Ada and Delta both flinched, as if expecting worse news. There didn't seem to be any soldiers coming their way, so what…?

"What are you talking about?" Wash asked, stepping forward. To Iowa's surprise, Wash grasped Tucker's shoulder in a form of concern. "Catch your breath first and then explain."

Tucker shrugged him off, standing upright wearily. "Church intercepted this conversation with these two UNSC guys," he said, almost too quickly to be understood. "Apparently, these are the guys who cleaned up your mess at Sidewinder. The ones who grabbed Epsilon."

" _What?_ " Simmons and Wash exclaimed at the same time.

Ada, who had been watching with concern from next to the table, made a quiet, gasping sound.

Church flared into existence, not suffering from the exertion Tucker was. Still, the white colored AI was flickering wildly like agitated AIs did.

"Apparently, they just got a heads up that the UNSC high-command is pissed off no one noticed they had a super powerful AI fragment in custody this whole time," Church continued. "Our friends over there were bitching about how it was secure enough back at this shitty little scientist station just south of Sidewinder and the UNSC were going to be taking care of it soon enough, hence the shit ton extra amount of UNSC troops down there. They're getting these guys' statements while Freelancer forces are going to grab the AI."

"Oh, my God," Ada whispered.

Iowa couldn't believe it.

"We just found Epsilon," Church said, his voice practically cracking.

 _Holy shit_ , Iowa thought, floored.

Wash exhaled sharply and threw his arms up into the air.

"No. No, no, no, we are not getting sidetracked now," he exclaimed. He pointed out at the UNSC base in the distance. "We are literally standing right in front of our ticket out of here. We won't have another chance like this."

Wash was right.

However, Iowa stood up slowly and shook his head at his fellow ex-solider.

"You're right. We won't," he said, ignoring how Wash turned to glare at him. "If we leave this planet now, we lose Epsilon and we lose any chance at all at reuniting the AIs."

Grif made a strangled sound. "So what? ! They fucking beat each other up for shits and giggles. They don't want a reunion."

"Correction, we are very much interested in being reunited with Epsilon," Delta replied, coolly. He remained calm next to Ada, though if Iowa wasn't imagining it, he sounded more invested than normal. "He is the only one of our kind with whom we still do not have contact. Without him, we will be permanently missing a part of ourselves."

"If Freelancer gets there before we do, we've lost him forever," Ada said. She held a hand up to her helmet, sounding near-tears. "Oh, _God_ , this is literally our last chance."

All of those hours working with the AIs… Iowa was no scientist, but he had watched them enough. He had watched Ada struggle and fail to give the AIs their missing piece.

Now, it was possible.

Iowa's head began to hurt at the implications.

"Who cares about Epsilon? !" Wash demanded, getting angrier and angrier. "He's just another AI! We don't have time to go running after rumors or loose ends!"

"Easy for you to say," Church said darkly.

Wash whirled around to face him. "What's your deal, Church?" he asked, voice heated. "Or should I call you Alpha instead? Which side are you on?"

Church flared in anger. "Mine! I am on _my_ side, you fucking Freelancer idiot!" he shouted. "Look, I do not like this anymore than you do, but dude, do you not understand yet that Epsilon is the missing piece to this puzzle?"

"What are you talking about?" Wash asked, sputtering indignantly. The Reds and Blues were watching them with open uncertainty.

"Epsilon is our _memory_. He has all the evidence we will ever need to bring Freelancer down," Church snapped. "If we get caught, off planet, without him? We are _done_. Epsilon could exonerate _you_ , for crying out loud!"

Sarge immediately turned to fix Wash with a look.

"Wait, is that true?" he asked. Simmons hesitated next to him and Caboose, despite being who he was, seemed to perk up.

Wash ignored them, glaring at Church, fists at his sides. "I don't see your point. All the facts, they're already out there about me."

"You are incorrect to say that, Agent Washington," Delta interjected, making the ex-Freelancer flinch. "Church is correct. Epsilon has vital information held by no one else besides the Director himself. He has intimate knowledge of what happened to you, knowledge that you kept hidden from medical records deliberately."

"Wash, just wait a second," Tucker began, recovered somewhat. He reached out to grab Wash's arm. "What if they're right?"

"It doesn't matter," Wash said, yanking away from him.

Tucker growled in frustration. "It does! Dude, we just got finished talking about this. If you think we don't care about you getting fucked over by this, you're wrong."

Washington had never struck Iowa as being the most stable soldier, especially with his history. Iowa watched, as careful and impassively as he could, not wanting to leap into the conversation just yet. Wash was already agitated enough.

"We don't have time, Tucker!" Wash exclaimed. "I don't want to get caught without some sort of defense ready either, but we have a head start and we're going to lose it completely if we backtrack to Sidewinder or wherever this place is. The Director is probably already there. Epsilon probably isn't even there by now."

"We have a day," Church said, interrupting Wash. He seemed to speak to all of them, making sure they were all listening. "According to their conversation. One solid day before Freelancer is scheduled to pick it up. If we fuck it up, we're dead. But if we move now and move quickly, hitting this place hard and grabbing to go, we can still make it out of there."

"This is insane," Wash hissed. He took a step closer to the AI. "How can you be willing to take that risk?"

"Because it's the only thing we can do!" Church said. He made a derisive sound, almost a laugh, but no where near happy. " _Fuck_! Wash, your whole life has been ruined because of Freelancer. Yeah, Sigma and O'Malley fucked things up on a more personal level, but they're only this way because of what the Director did to them! To all of us!"

"And you want revenge?" Wash asked, practically snarling, spitting out the word.

"Don't _you_? !" Church shouted.

Wash froze, body swaying from the shut down. He seemed to be staring at Church, unable to say anything.

Everyone waited. Iowa pitied him.

Finally, Wash stood back, just a half-step. He refused to look at anyone else except Church, even though the cold air in their little camp grew thicker with anxiety.

"What I _want_ is irrelevant," Wash finally said, shoulders heaving despite his calm voice. "We _need_ to leave."

Iowa dared to move, ignoring how Wash seemed to immediately turn to glare at him, on a hair-trigger.

"Washington, we have to think this over, carefully. I agree that we should leave ASAP, but it's equally true we are never going to have this chance again," Iowa said, trying to be rational. "Do we leave and risk needing this chance later on or do we take a larger risk now in order to have an ace when our backs are against the wall?"

He didn't want to take a risk like this without just cause. It was practically suicide. They'd be walking straight into a Freelancer-controlled base, with more Freelancers en route, when they could have left in just twelve hours. They were gambling with their minimal luck and hard-won time advantage.

The base wasn't expecting them. There was no way that the Director or whoever was controlling the Freelancers at that point would suspect the rogue Reds, Blues and company to invade them looking for Epsilon at that point. While they were sacrificing time, they could capitalize instead on the element of surprise.

Iowa could only hope it would be worth it.

Judging by Ada's trembling and the AIs' reactions, it probably was.

"Epsilon…" Caboose said, breaking the silence. "He was nice."

Grif snorted. "Sort of. I mean, he was basically just like Church." It was unclear if that was an insult or not.

"He saved our asses back at Sandtrap with that laser routine," Tucker added. He looked over at Wash and gestured at him. "I mean, he saved us from you, oddly enough."

Wash bristled. " _Tch_."

Sarge made a low sound, apparently thinking it over. "We never did finish that fight properly. That floating eyeball never did rub me the right way, but I have to admit, he came in handy."

Whatever that meant. Iowa was vaguely glad the Reds and Blues seemed friendlier to the idea of assisting in Epsilon's rescue than Wash did. While Iowa wasn't totally sold on them being strong allies in an actual fight where tactics were involved, he had been impressed by their survival back at Valhalla. The Reds had pulled their shit together and shot down a Pelican. Having allies of any sort, to be distractions or even use their miraculous luck in their favor, was going to be a necessity if they wanted to get out of their situation alive.

Rescuing Epsilon was a lot more complicated, he knew. Iowa hoped the Reds and Blues wouldn't bail. He had to hope for that much.

"Ada, what do you want to do?" Iowa asked, turning to her.

Ada didn't even need a second to think her answer over.

"Epsilon is the missing piece to helping the AIs. I cannot bring myself to let him fall into the Director's clutches again," she said, resolute. She looked at Wash and then at Church. "I'm going to save him."

"Then so am I," Iowa said, nodding. "Obviously the AIs are in. Right?"

" _I have no reason to put my life on the line for that broken fool_ ," O'Malley abruptly interjected, causing both Simmons and Tucker to launch themselves away from the purple medic he inhabited. "But he's your brother. And they have a point about him coming in handy later, I bet," Doc said, transitioning as smoothly as ever. His shoulders tensed harshly and his voice changed again. " _Be silent!_ "

Delta seemed to ignore them. "I would surmise Sigma feels the same as I do," he said, regarding Iowa and then Wash. "It is worth the risk."

"It is."

Iowa almost choked and took several steps away from the Warthog, where the AI containment unit was tucked under the only emergency blanket they had found in the jeeps. The blanket kept the snow off but did not stop Sigma from hovering above it like a ghostly flame.

Idly, Iowa wondered just _when_ Ada had planned on locking those lunatics up before they got moving for the original plan. Then again, it didn't seem like Sigma was running. Maybe Ada had just not turned the containment unit's projection abilities off. Iowa secretly wished there was a way to ask her to do that without coming off sounding like a jerk.

"Sigma?" Ada asked, not entirely surprised to see her.

Sigma, despite still looking a little darker and moodier like she had been earlier, spoke with clarity and firmness.

"While it pains me to agree with Washington that the risk is almost too much, it is still worth the effort," she said, flickering only once. "We must have Epsilon to be complete."

Ada glanced at Iowa briefly. "And the others?" she asked.

Sigma inclined her head towards the psychologist. "In agreement. We must have Epsilon, doctor."

Iowa wasn't entirely surprised. Neither was anyone else, he wagered. He glanced over and saw Wash still as tense as a board. Iowa sighed and looked at all the simulation troops.

"You guys can keep going. I don't blame you if you want to bail," Iowa said. He didn't bother feeling threatened when Wash seemed to focus his anger on him for speaking up. He regarded the ex-soldier carefully. "You should listen to your team more, Washington. They're smart enough to know what they want."

He wasn't blind to how much Wash cared about his men. It was understandable, for various reasons considering who Wash was and what had happened to him. The simulation troops were mostly useless, but Wash was clearly attached to them. He was doing everything he could to protect them, almost as much as Ada was trying to do the same for the AIs. Iowa didn't begrudge Wash for his actions.

But sometimes, they just had to step back. Iowa watched Wash struggle with that knowledge. Wash knew. He had to have known that the Reds and Blues weren't going to go by logic or follow his orders without applying their own illogical ethics to the situation.

Because if they were anything, the Reds and Blues weren't the sort of heartless bastards Wash and Iowa had been most of their lives.

Iowa was beginning to understand their allies a lot more in recent days. He only hoped that Wash would begin to understand himself and his friends similarly and quickly.

Wash exhaled lowly. He turned his head slowly to look out at the Reds and Blues, who were watching him intensely.

"And what do you want?" he asked, sounding like he had to force each word out.

"To go home, not be shot, and to forget this ever happened," Grif said immediately, deadpan.

Simmons glared at his friend. "But since that's impossible…"

All the Reds and Blues seemed to fidget, glancing at each other, having unspoken conversations made possible by years of getting to know each other's habits and thoughts. Iowa waited, trying not to feel too tense. If he and Ada had to do this alone, it was going to be next to impossible.

The Reds and Blues, he was beginning to learn, thrived in impossibility.

Grif finally shifted on his feet. "We did leave him behind," he said, as if that were a good reason to drop everything and do this. "And that _was_ sort of lame…"

"I don't leave a fight half-finished," Sarge said. He raised a closed fist. "Let's go get the little golf ball."

"I miss Church 2.0," Caboose lamented. "He liked my stories better than real Church does."

Church glowered at him. "Oh, shut up."

Sister shifted from her seated position in the snow, crossing her arms against her chest. "I have no idea what you guys are talking about, but I go where Grif goes," she said, resolute.

"Rescues are cool!" Donut said, cheerful. "I don't mind helping."

"Me neither," Doc said, mirroring the emotion. "It could be a good experience!" O'Malley reappeared, sulking spectacularly. " _Ugh! Fine, more excuses to obliterate more of those Freelancer fools_. _I hope the Director chokes on this loss_ oh _-so painfully._ "

"We grab him and get going," Tucker said, glancing around at the others. "Could be worse, right?"

"And _I_ don't like loose ends. They usually come back to bite us worse in the ass if we purposely ignore them," Simmons said, grumbling. "I vote we finish this once and for all."

Iowa smiled behind his helmet.

They really were idiots.

He could sort of understand why that endeared them to Wash, he thought, more amused than depressed.

Ada seemed pleased by what she was hearing, clasping her hands to her chest, seemingly relieved. Delta also looked as pleased as he ever did. Sigma was quiet, calculating, but not protesting. Church looked utterly relieved.

Wash looked like he was about to lose his mind.

Iowa tried to imagine what the other soldier was thinking. He wanted to do what was best for his soldiers. That was obvious. He had disregarded most of their desires during their flight, but those had been minor issues. This was different. This? It was clear where the Reds and Blues were in terms of what they thought was right—not necessarily what was smartest or safest.

Having had far more experience with them than Iowa or Ada had, Wash must have clearly known it was a lost fight.

In the end, Wash was a team-player, to a fault.

He turned slowly, facing the Reds and Blues. He radiated tension and frustration, but he didn't yell. He accepted his team's answer.

"Then we should get going, shouldn't we?" Wash asked, as if accepting a death sentence.

Iowa vaguely prayed that it wouldn't actually be one.

**End _Chapter 15_.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, identity crises, Mother Nature being a dick, and subplots…
> 
>  **A/Ns** :  
> -We never really saw Doc as "losing time" while paired up with O'Malley in Blood Gulch, but we have seen miscellaneous soldiers who were possessed by Church experiencing lost time. So, I'm wagering it's possible for O'Malley to block Doc just the same.  
> -Giving equal (or almost equal) time and dialogue and action to each of these characters is almost impossible, but I'm trying. Some are more key than others to the plot, so that's going to be my main reason why I don't give some of the cast more attention. :c  
> -Bureaucracy is the key to never getting anything done properly and thus saving the day.  
> -"Outpost 93" random base I made up. Just south of Sidewinder, just a science station. Totally not the place you'd expect to find a misplaced AI.
> 
>  **Unimportant but somewhat related** : I have a RvB-focused tumblr blog (mamabearwashington) if you want to know where to look for me off this site to check if I'm still alive/check my progess with the fic. Also my personal tumblr (spontaneousthings) is updated far more frequently but has a bunch of non-fandom posts on it, just FYI.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE EPISODE THIS WEEK EMOTIONALLY DEVASTATED ME IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE. ;-; Oh my gooooood. Also, BLESS MILES for finally granting us the POV of the AIs. This just helped me a hella lot writing fic.
> 
> So, today! Weather troubles, Ada and Church have a chat, and the nerds decide to stir up some interesting theories. Yo, finally a hint at the Grimmons I've been advertising for, like, ever.
> 
> Next update, in theory, will be on August 6! That is, if I'm not selected for Jury Duty a few days before then. :c I'll let y'all know on my tumblr.
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

 

Nexus' moon had to have the most bizarre weather patterns and geology Ada had never hear of.

It had started snowing the moment they had gotten close to the supply base. She had been distracted by the nerve-wracking preparations they had gone about making. She was worried about locking the AIs down and not getting in the way of the military aspects of the plan. She had then been distracted by Church's declaration about Epsilon.

The snow, which had been falling gently over them and the trees, began to fall a little heavier when they got on the road after deciding to head to Outpost 93 to rescue Epsilon. The Warthogs had little trouble traveling through it and the armor made the chill barely noticeable.

Ada could not help but notice the snow after an hour of traveling, however, as they headed northwest. They had been approximately twelve hours from Sidewinder. It made them all incredibly nervous about moving too slow, so their pace had been quite erratic over the uneven terrain of the mountains and thicker forests as they navigated away from potentially exposed UNSC roads.

By the time they had gotten half way there, it was a true snowstorm.

"The storm does not seem to be showing signs of slowing down or moving on," Delta informed them as the wind howled around them during a brief sit-rep stop. Visibility was decreasing rapidly. "UNSC weather forecasts that I have intercepted indicate it will worsen just before daybreak."

It was so strange to Ada. She was no meteorologist, but it just seemed unnatural for that little moon to have such diverse weather when they were barely any distance from the last isolated ecological site. Most of the Reds and Blues seemed to accept it as it was. Wash and Iowa seemed agitated, but their nerves were already frayed. Ada kept quiet, bundling the AI containment unit in her lap as gently as she could, and kept an eye out for O'Malley.

Sigma was locked in the containment unit at Iowa's request. It seemed fair enough. Ada was still severely disturbed by the incident with O'Malley and Sigma. Their stubbornness to avoid talking about it made things worse. Wracking her brain, Ada couldn't understand why Sigma would have decided to try to dominate O'Malley that way. Sigma had always used words to manipulate people around her, her siblings included.

Maybe now that he was "free" in the sense of having a body, O'Malley hadn't been responding as well to Sigma's threats or suggestions. Ada was still unconvinced that was totally it. Sigma was far more patient than that.

What it meant for the truth was unsettling. Ada clutched the containment unit and did her best not to dwell on it too heavily. They didn't have the time or energy to argue it now.

She felt a strange absence as they drove. Delta wasn't in her suit. He had been quite active during the last half of the day and hadn't gotten a lot of recharge time earlier. He also seemed more interested in lingering with the other AIs. Ada couldn't blame him, really. So much was happening for them. It was natural they wanted to congregate and discuss things.

Questions still lingered. Ada knew Delta was acting strangely, ever since the altercation between Sigma and Omega. All of the AIs seemed so off because of it or simply because it dragged out other issues for them. Ada wished she had time to discuss it with them, but it was not the time or place for a session.

Ada blinked behind her visor when she realized the jeep was slowing down. She looked up, immediately wary of trouble, but none of the soldiers seemed too upset. Wash had moved up to the Red's jeep for the trip, since they probably would want their two ex-Freelancers to be spread out a bit for safety purposes.

Peering ahead curiously, Ada didn't interrupt Iowa as he jumped down from the Warthog's back to walk over to Washington half-way. They were gesturing, but their voices and most of their body movements were lost to the darkness and howling winds.

The weather was getting bad, Ada noted. They had been trying to keep to unused paths, but that only made the snow piles worse. The Warthogs were designed to take a beating, but there was only so much it could do against the elements sometimes.

A flash of red caught in the headlights. Ada leaned out of the passenger side to peer up at one of the brighter colored Reds—their leader, Sarge.

"You okay, ma'am?" the Red sergeant asked as he stopped at her right side.

"Oh, yes," she said. She cleared her throat and peered around them into the dark abyss of the woods around them. "Why have we stopped?"

Wash wasn't entirely visible in the blustering snow cloud, even when painted such a bright blue and moved up closer to her position. "The storm's cut off our access to the road we wanted to take. We're going to have to backtrack to a lower road," he said, motioning out with his hand in front of them. "There might be more coverage by the trees down there."

Ada bit at her lower lip. "How close are we to Outpost 93?" she asked, having to speak loudly over the wind.

"Too close for me, but maybe a little less than two hours?" Tucker said, also speaking loudly as he settled back into the driver's seat.

"We're going to need to find shelter soon," Sarge warned. He nodded his head back to the other jeep. "Did you bother to check if there were any places we could hide out between here and that base, ghost boy?

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did check," Church snarked back, flickering into existence next to the gear shift and Tucker's hip. "And like I _told_ you people, there's a dinky-ass forward science outpost listed on the map. If there's anyone still there that hadn't evacuated because of the storm, they'll only be like two or three scientists."

"Hmp. I thought you said that was the base."

"No, I said it was a _forward_ _science_ _outpost_ , two klicks south of Outpost 93. Since when were the words 'base' and 'forward science outpost' synonymous?"

"There are too many places! It was easier when there were just Red and Blue bases!"

O'Malley let out a low growl behind Ada's head, just loud enough for her to hear, from his perch on the back of the jeep. " _If they don't get moving, I will kill them and take the jeep myself._ "

Ada sighed and reached up to tap his visor lightly. "Be good." He growled again but hunkered down in sulking acceptance.

Thankfully, they did get moving quickly. The snow kept falling, heavier and heavier. Iowa seemed pretty tense about not being able to see where they were headed, even though Church assured them they weren't near any other life signs.

After forty minutes, Ada noticed the forward Warthog slowing again, its rear lights the only indication of where it was in the storm. Ada shivered mostly out of wariness at how bad it was getting; it was a full-blown _blizzard_ now.

That did not entirely prevent her from seeing the structure in front of them. Ada had no idea, geographically speaking, where they were, but she could see the faint outline of a tiny building. As Tucker drove them up alongside their companions and parked in front of the building, Ada realized it must have been the place Church had been talking about.

It was where, as Church eloquently put it, "all the scientists who were too nerdy to fit in at the regular science base got moved to do their nerdy science shit." Ada didn't care what the use had been. It was shelter and they needed it, now.

"Thank God, we're not going to die!" Simmons exclaimed as he launched off from the Warthog across from Ada. He got tangled with Grif in the attempt, however, and both soldiers yelped as they fell into the snow and practically disappeared.

Ada squinted out in the poor lighting up at the square-shaped outpost. It looked so tiny. She wondered if they could even fit everyone inside of it. There looked to be a generator on the side, but it seemed unlikely it would work. If they were lucky, everyone could settle in and get at least a little rest in the remaining hours of night they had.

…she only prayed they wouldn't maim or kill each other before they could move on.

"I'm so excited for a sleepover!" Caboose said, his teeth audibly chattering. Church made a groaning noise of displeasure.

The door was understandably locked, but it didn't take Wash any time to blast it open with two shots, which barely echoed with all the snow muffling their noise. The Reds and Blues started to crowd around, desperate to get out of the snow, as Wash went in to quickly check for hostiles. When he emerged, he waved them in, the coast being clear.

Ada hauled the AI containment unit with her as she stepped out of the Warthog—and nearly stumbled face first into the snow bank that was all the way up to her waist. She couldn't believe it was that bad already—and that the jeeps had been able to travel through it. The snow was still falling, too. No wonder the soldiers had decided they had gone far enough.

"Alright, everyone in!" Wash called from the entrance of the little building. He suddenly turned and pointed with authority towards the purple medic sliding off the back of the Warthog into the snow. "And _you_. Don't you dare run off."

"I'm not! It's too cold!" Doc said, startled. O'Malley made an indignant sound. " _Excuse me? Don't you dare—!_ " Doc practically stomped his foot down in a surprising show of frustration. "O'Malley, come on, it's _freezing_!"

Wash lashed out with one hand and hauled Doc bodily into the air briefly before hurling him straight at the door, knocking over whoever was still standing there with a yell. Doc yelped and Ada winced at the treatment, but at least he and O'Malley were inside out of the storm.

Hobbling through the snow—and ignoring how Iowa was watching and probably laughing at her because of her height—Ada finally got to the little shack. She stumbled through the receding snow bank and straight inside the threshold. She nearly fell right into Caboose's back, who politely helped her stand up. It was pitch black inside, with only their armor lights to guide them now that the jeeps were parked.

"Jeez, what is this place?" Grif asked, peering around the dark room warily.

"Forward science outpost," Sarge said, confident.

Tucker snorted. "Why would they just leave these sorts of places out in the open like this?"

"This area of the planet was where a lot of the science end of things went on. Scientists like their space, I guess," Iowa answered. He glanced around, even though doing a headcount seemed impossible with only their armor lights giving them visibility. "Is everyone in?"

"Yeah," Donut said. "It's sure cramped in here, but I've always liked tight spaces."

" _Ugh_ ," Grif and Simmons said in unison.

Wash moved off to the side, seemingly looking for something as Iowa heaved the door shut and the sound of the wind cut off dramatically. "We're only staying until the storm stops," Wash said.

"We're wasting _time_ ," Church said, sounding agitated again. His glowing form was giving them a large amount of light in the center of the room.

"Even the Director isn't crazy enough to land in weather like this," Iowa said. "Delta was following the storm report. It should be clear enough to travel by morning."

Church groaned. "Augh, that's not good enough."

"Too bad," Wash snapped. Without any warning, the whole room was flooded with fluorescent light, causing several of their company to jump. Ada turned and saw Wash leaning against the far wall, his hand on what looked like a light switch. "Everyone settle in. We have around six hours before dawn. Eat your ration and go to bed."

Tucker scowled. "Yes, _mom_."

To Ada's relief, that was the only real rebellion to be found. After Wash's order, everyone seemed to obey in their own ways. The Reds seemed interested in exploring the tiny little science shed while Tucker and Caboose collapsed in the back corner of the front room behind a desk, with Caboose complaining about not being able to feel his toes.

"Found a space heater!" Donut exclaimed from the other room.

"Sweet," Tucker mumbled, sounding already half-asleep.

Ada watched O'Malley take up a far corner of the lab, seemingly intent on remaining removed from the others. Shifting the AIs in her arms, Ada glanced around for a safe place to keep them.

Iowa moved up after securing the door's battered locks.

"You okay, Ada?" he asked, taking off his helmet. His breath ghosted the air.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, choosing to mimic him. She winced once the cold air hit her exposed face. It was better than outside in the wind, but still. "It's a bit chilly."

"Go over by the heater," Iowa said, pointing at where the Reds were moving a large gray box. "Try to get some sleep."

Ada frowned. "In a minute. Where do you suppose is the most secure area?"

"There's a little computer station in the back. Here. Let's get the kids tucked in."

The little shack had more room than she was expecting. The main room was littered with sleek desks and science equipment, though she had no idea what they had been studying. The doorway that led to the computer station room also connected to a very short hallway that opened up to a tiny washroom-shower combination. Ada had no intention of finding out how bloody freezing the water was, so she didn't consider it an option.

Clearly, the station was meant to have scientists stay overnight if needed. In addition to the tiny shower, there were two bunks embedded into the wall to save space. Normally, Ada would have imagined her allies fighting over the beds, but it was too cold to be that far from the main room with the heater. She made a note to take the blankets from the bunks anyway to bring with them.

Iowa helped her carry the unit to the computer station room, which seemed to be dwarfed by two armored bodies. Ada was surprised to see there was more storage space along the wall, with a powerful-looking workstation opposite to it. It was all offline, considering the scientists had probably left with the intention of being away for a while. The lights didn't seem to take up too much of the generator's power—and it was likely there was a generator, since the power still worked and the station appeared to be designed to be self-sufficient—so Ada doubted it would be worth wasting energy by turning the computer on.

Tucking the AIs on top of the back shelf they cleared off, Ada hoped they'd be safe there. If they were suddenly cornered, Ada wanted the unit to be out of the way of direct fire. There were no windows in the back room or escape route from there, so she had to hope there would be no emergency regardless.

She hesitated over the idea of waking Delta and asking if he wanted to return to her suit. She missed his presence, a calming source of thought whenever she had questions or concerns she didn't want to bother the soldiers with. Still, she did not want to be selfish. She left him there to rest with his siblings, knowing they needed time.

Stepping back into the main room, she looked up at Iowa, who looked understandably exhausted.

"Did you eat?" he asked her suddenly.

"I had earlier, at dinner," Ada said, back at the other camp they had made up, before Epsilon had come up into conversation. She went to sit, sliding down the wall next to the backroom's entrance. "Ohh, I'm stiff from that ride."

Iowa crouched next to her, his face close and full of concern. "How's your knee?"

Her knee? Ada blinked, surprised at her own ignorance. "Oh, my. I didn't even notice it lately," she said. She rubbed the exterior armor that covered her knee. "It feels stiff, but it's much better."

"Good," Iowa said. He smiled and rocked his body into her shoulder. "Don't do something like that again, okay?"

Ada dared to smirk back. "Jumping down air ducts or not telling you about it?"

That thankfully earned her a quiet laugh. "Heh. Either," he said, fondness in his voice. He stood up slowly. "I'm going on first watch. Please get some rest."

"You too," she said, frowning. She knew they needed someone to keep watch, but to continue to push Iowa and Wash was a mistake. They were their strongest warriors after all. Iowa deserved a break, too.

Iowa gave her his trademark cheeky smile. "I'm a Freelancer, remember? We don't need sleep. We survive on sweat and adrenaline."

"That's disgusting." She had to laugh, however.

"I'll get some sleep, don't worry," Iowa said. He waved and headed for the door. "See you in a few."

Ada waved after him, the gesture a bit slower than his had been. "Be safe."

Iowa went over to let Wash know he was taking point and Wash nodded as the other Freelancer braved the cold night once more. Everyone else seemed to be settling by the heater. She watched them, a bit too tired to force herself up yet. She wasn't terribly cold, even with her head exposed.

She was surprised when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of light emanating from her memory compartment resting on her thigh. It was informing her that her AI memory slot was active.

Ah.

"Hello, Church," she said, knowing it could not have been anyone but him. She smiled when he appeared to her left side, just a little bit up off the ground. "You haven't jumped in my suit before."

There was no overpowering sense of possession that Doc or Wash would probably have described. Church was remaining in her memory slot and she wasn't wearing her helmet, so all he could do was remotely access the rest of her suit. Even then, he seemed disinterested in doing anything but hover there.

"It's weird not seeing that dweeb with you," he said, in reference to Delta, she assumed. He shook his head. "It's fucking creepy. Hi, by the way."

She rested her head back on the wall. "How are you doing?" she asked.

"Just peachy. I'm just glad I don't have a body right now, because all that snow looks cold as fuck." The AI dramatically shivered. "Sucks for you guys."

The tiny figure seemed content to linger. Ada watched him tiredly, a little curious but not terribly so. He seemed agitated, but it could have been because of several factors. Despite his outwardly feigned disinterest in her or the other AIs, Church showed affection and concern in his own way. Sometimes, Ada realized he wasn't entirely aware of it himself.

"Church?" she asked, after a moment.

"Yeah?" Church responded immediately. He suddenly froze. "Wait, if you start to ask me about their fight, don't bother, I'm not going to—"

"Are you all right?" she asked.

That caught the AI by surprise. He seemed to stare at her, not able to come up with a quick reply. He recovered, still hesitant.

"Yeah. I'm fine," he said.

Ada tilted her head. "You've been acting differently the last few days," she said. She raised her hand to silent his immediate protests. "I'm not saying it's bad that you are. I'm just trying to figure out where this is coming from."

Church seemed like he would have scowling at her, had he a face. "You always trying to figure things out. You're not a freaking cop, Ada."

"I know," she said, recalling all of the times she had tried to figure out Sigma, her plans, the AIs in general. She was not trained in the art of uncovering crimes.

She was good, however, at understanding people.

"Then why are you bothering?" Church asked, drifting a bit closer.

"Because I'm concerned," Ada said, knowing Church, like most of the AIs, would only accept open honesty. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but if you want to and you're afraid, I'm not going to judge what you say."

Church's form flickered. "I'm not afraid of—jeez, where the hell did you get _that_ idea? !" he demanded, offended. His temper didn't last, however, and he seemed to shake his head in distaste. "You are _such_ a loser."

His behavior was normal, for the most part. Ada was used to him criticizing her for her concern or tentative examinations of his behavior.

At the same time, something was definitely off about the AI. Ada folded her hands in her lap and watched him, trying not to seem too interested or analytical. Giving him time and space was crucial. Just letting him know that she was expecting another response was enough.

It seemed to work. Church physically seemed to hesitate, flickering briefly and going to speak several times before he seemed to withdraw. Finally, though, he gathered himself back up.

"Look…" Church began, sounding reluctant. "I'm not sold on a lot of this."

Ada blinked. " _This_ being…?"

"Me. Them," Church said, motioning vaguely at nothing. He seemed even more withdrawn. "The whole AI thing."

Sympathy crossed her heart, but she kept it hidden. "I know," she said, aiming for simple understanding.

Church hesitated. "But…"

"But?"

"I'm dead, no matter what, right?" he continued. He sounded increasingly agitated again. "But we're still here. _They're_ still here. And most of them are more pathetic than my old team ever was! Theta, Lambda and Tau are completely useless and they're scared of everything! Delta's probably fine, but Sigma keeps fucking things up, Omega's the same psycho piece of shit he always was, and Gamma and Zeta and Beta won't EVER shut up. I fucking hate them! I…!"

His form was shining brightly, his initial calm breaking into his usual anger. Unlike most times, however, the rage didn't last. He wavered, both visually and mentally, his voice catching. Ada sat there and waited. Church seemed increasingly conflicted.

"I don't," he said, almost deflating. His boisterousness was gone, dissipating like it always did when he lost his nerve. "I don't hate them. Not really. And I…I don't know _why_."

He sounded so desperate.

"Oh, Church," Ada whispered. She reached out, her hand in the air like she was used to doing back in the lab, when Zeta or one of the other weaker AIs needed a display of comfort, even if they could not feel it. "It's okay. You don't have to have the answers."

Whether he noticed or not, Church did react to the hand, hovering a bit closer to it. "I don't want to… just… ditch them. I don't know. It makes no sense," he said, voice tight, shaky, and full of the sort of confusion Ada had come to expect from him when this conversation came up. "I know I'm…"

He used to get so angry. Whenever Ada had mentioned his true name or his identity, Church would lash out, cursing and swearing that he was not an AI. He had been human, now a ghost, and that was enough for him. It was the only thing he would—could—accept.

Somewhere, Ada realized, Church's resolve to maintain his identity as a dead man had developed a crack.

The crack was spreading.

Ada waited for him to speak, always patient, her heart aching as a faint rhythm in her chest.

"I know I'm not human. Not anymore. Maybe I never was. Maybe this whole time, you were right and I was wrong," Church said. He shook his head slowly. "But that doesn't matter. Right now, what matters is not dying and fixing this bullshit that Freelancer dumped on us."

"Right," Ada said softly.

"And Tex, she…she would have done the same. What I'm doing. I guess," he continued, his lighted form dimming. "I don't know anymore."

Ada's heart clenched. "Church, you don't need to be someone you're not," she told him, as gently as she could.

Church shook his head. "I don't even know who I am, let alone if I'm acting like someone else."

When she had first met the Alpha, she had expected a broken and emotionless creature. His anger had surprised her. His colorful displays of reactions like bitterness, sarcasm, rage, and authentic laughter had confused her. She had to reevaluate her entire expectations over what the Alpha actually was.

Over time, she had had her theories. None of them were particularly pleasant. Especially now, in the midst of everything they were attempting to do.

Ada did not want to make things worse, not after everything else she had failed to prevent.

"You're Church. You're the former leader of the Blue Team of Blood Gulch. You're a good friend to those you've let get close to you," she said. She held his gaze when he looked to her. "I am very proud of you offering to help Epsilon, Church. You're a good person."

Church's light did not get any brighter. "Maybe," he said, not convinced.

It hurt her to see that. It hurt more to think about what had caused this.

The Alpha had been destroyed. Ripped apart. Fractured like glass. Everything that had made a human a _human_ had been forced into a digital form—and then that replicated human psyche had been broken in a way that was unfathomable to observers. Even after months of talking with the AIs, Ada knew that she had little understanding of just what had happened to them all.

But to the Alpha? That had been such a mystery to contemplate. Church was so human. He had made friends, had been a leader, had been cognizant enough to reject his AI heritage despite everything that had happened after the Meta arrived in his life. Only now was he beginning to show signs of accepting his origins, but that was likely due to resonance with the other AIs' presence.

Before, at Blood Gulch, he had been human. No one had doubted it. Not even O'Malley's presence had triggered recognition.

Why had the Alpha—who had been stripped of what made him human—been so complete?

Ada realized, after months of analysis and quiet contemplation of the facts, that the truth was the exact opposite.

Church was not whole.

He was still broken, still ripped apart, still fractured like glass. He was empty.

When he had been taken by Agent Florida to Blood Gulch to be hidden amongst average simulation troops, he had been given a false body and identity. He had lacked everything—memory, emotion, identity. So, they gave them those things.

Memory was easy enough to influence, especially when the Alpha was as blank as he had been. Identity was similarly easy enough to construct with facts, numbers and verbal reinforcement.

But his personality? His emotions?

Church had been forced to borrow them.

The answer came from every single person he had met once he had been removed from Freelancer's direct control. He must have witnessed anger. He mimicked it, too well, to the point where it was almost oddly transparent and empty of true threat. Laughter, tears, social etiquette, logical moves, foolish decisions, the concept of friend and family—it had all been observed or given to him. He absorbed it all like a sponge.

A blank slate that still possessed intellect would naturally be drawn to fill in his own blanks. It was all anemic, without proper censor development built through personal experience, and all a façade, but it had been enough to cover the wounds with a metaphorical bandage.

Maybe parts of the Director still lingered as a shadow. But Church had stopped being the Director a long time ago. He was a patchwork creature, designed by himself through time and forced exposure, that lingered within the boundaries of his own invention. When he was a ghost, Texas was still his girlfriend, his life was that of the man who had tortured him, and AIs were far away concepts.

Ada was glad that the patchwork had stayed. It had clearly been solidified after years of his comrades accepting him, which only reinforced the rightness or wrongness of his actions and behaviors. Church was not the fragmented creature that his siblings were, but he was a shallow being next to them. A ghost. A doppelgänger. A desperate mimic.

Now, it wasn't enough. The prolonged exposure to his missing parts was causing Church to doubt that self-protective bubble he had made for himself. Ada feared what would happened if he lost his grip over "Church" and truly became the "Alpha." Would his personality vanish? Would _he_ vanish? Would he never yell again, or get frustrated with Caboose, or laugh at the mistakes of his friends, or miss Allison with the false impression of heartache?

His state of being had forced him to completely dedicate himself to a human existence. Without it, what he was could simply…dissolve.

Ada closed her eyes tightly, warding off both her emotions and those thoughts.

They were still okay. Church was still there. The Alpha was still in denial.

Fearing what was to come in terms of the AIs came second to making sure they physically survived their journey to safety. Ada could not start giving them counseling now.

She prayed they could last that long. That Church could last until they retrieved Epsilon—until, maybe, they could reunite the AIs.

Opening her eyes, she saw Church staring at her. He seemed unsure. At least the melancholy that had been draped around him seemed to have lessened.

"What's with that face?" the AI asked.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "I'm just a little cold."

Church made a tsking sound and moved closer, hovering in front of her face. "Then move over to where the idiots are with the heater. God."

The faint concern—rough, vague, entirely _Church_ —made her smile, despite the grief welling up inside of her. He was a good friend, despite everything he tried to sell about himself.

"You're quite right," she said, finally leaning forward to prepare to haul herself to her feet. "Will you be staying with me for the time being?"

The AI seemed forcefully indifferent, but he didn't go anywhere. "Why not? The stupid box is locked down and I don't want to go back to Tucker's memory unit. The shit that's in there is unbelievable!"

"Ha. I can imagine."

"No, Ada, you're better off not trying to…"

They had time to relax and recover, for the time being.

They were okay.

**0000**

Simmons couldn't sleep.

He had tried to get comfortable around the space heater, in between Grif and Tucker. The main room's light had been shut off not too long ago, but people were already asleep or snoring, in Caboose and Sarge's cases. Donut was curled up around Caboose, who was flaked out on the floor, taking up an impressive amount of room. Dr. Livingston had finally moved over and had curled up in the opposite manner on the floor, right alongside Sister. Simmons figured the ladies would seek each other out. O'Malley and Doc were still across the room, but their stillness seemed to indicate they were asleep.

Wash was resting in one of the desk chairs by the door. He looked like he was lounging upright, but Simmons figured the Freelancer _was_ actually asleep for once. The man had looked utterly exhausted earlier. He had heard him and Iowa talk about changing watch duty later on in the night. Simmons felt bad for them, but he really didn't want to venture out into the cold night himself.

Sighing quietly, he stood up as silently as he could, his armor only barely scratching against the tiled floor. Grif snorted, jerked awake by the movement, but didn't say anything as Simmons untangled from him.

Tiptoeing around the various bodies on the floor, Simmons made it to the side office door and slipped inside. He had wanted to check out the computer earlier and now seemed like as good a time as any. His brain just wouldn't shut off, so he figured he wouldn't waste the time or opportunity.

Just as he went to shut the door to keep the light of the office out of the other room, to let the others sleep, Grif came up and slipped inside before he could. Simmons rolled his eyes, but didn't protest.

"What are you doing?" the orange soldier asked, keeping his voice down.

"Just checking things out," Simmons said, sliding back into the first chair in front of the computer desk. "I'm really surprised this place still has the power to run the lights. I don't think there'll be enough to run the computers, though. Wash might get pissed if I try it. Why're you in here?"

"Whatever," Grif said, yawning loudly. He threw himself into the other desk chair and slouched, yawning again. "And it's warmer in here."

Simmons rolled his eyes. No, it wasn't. It was fucking freezing everywhere in that building, aside from right next to the space heater. However, Grif didn't just get the urge to eat when he got nervous. He also got weirdly clingy and didn't like to be alone while asleep. Simmons didn't comment on it, knowing it wasn't really fair to make fun of Grif for being on edge.

Then again, it was cold. Maybe clingy was good for, you know, conserving heat. Simmons decided that was logical enough not to make a fuss in public about it.

He turned back to the computer and rested his hands on the flat, glass keyboard. He wondered what the scientists there had been working on, but he supposed it was just geological studies. Simmons felt a weird sense of déjà vu looking at the computer, however.

To think, just two years ago, they had raided one of the main freaking Freelancer compounds, almost like what they were about to do at Outpost 93. He remembered all the panic and mayhem of trying to follow Wash's orders, being stuck in that lab before the Meta arrived, and then having to flee with Epsilon. Good times.

Simmons sighed quietly. Back then, it had been a lot different, with the Meta trying to kill them. While he was glad they didn't have that monster hunting them down anymore, it was entirely different to be a fugitive himself this time around. It was strangely more… permanent feeling. At least with the Meta, they could (and eventually did) defeat him.

They couldn't defeat the _freaking army_ , he thought morosely.

"Would you like assistance?" a voice behind him asked, making him flinch.

The only reason he didn't panic was because he recognized the voice almost immediately. Flat, but not unfriendly, it was a hell of a lot more comforting to hear out of no where than compared to Sigma or O'Malley's voices.

Turning, Simmons peered across from them at the AI containment unit. A green light was hovering above it. He vaguely remembered Livingston saying she had locked it down so Sigma couldn't jump, but apparently that meant the AIs could still appear near the unit. This AI—clearly Delta—seemed to be observing him with polite interest.

"Um, sure," Simmons said. He scratched the back of his head as he regarded the green AI. "I don't think we've ever really gotten the chance to talk much, have we?"

Delta tilted his ghostly head at them, which was probably as humanizing the green AI got. "We have not. We did not cross paths as allies prior to my capture by the Meta at the Zanzibar Electrical Plant," he replied. "However, I have vast amounts of information concerning you."

There was a pause.

"That's creepy," Grif said, one eyebrow higher on his brow.

"Not at all. It is all objective material, rendered to me by the Alpha and my brief stay inside Private Caboose's mind," Delta said, unaffected by Grif's comment. He peered closer at the maroon soldier next to him. "What were you attempting to do, Private Simmons?"

Simmons gestured at the computer. "Well, this seems to be part of the UNSC command network. I just wanted to see what was on it."

"It is severely unlikely that this outpost, unconnected to the Extranet and any exterior UNSC server due to the weather, will have anything of importance on its secluded database," Delta said. "You will not be able to access anything similarly, even if there was power to spare to activate it."

There was another beat of silence.

"Wow," Grif said, leaning forward on the side of the desk, resting his chin on his hand. "You have a rival at being the resident nerd king, Simmons."

Simmons knew he had turned pink. "Shut up," he mumbled, huddling down in the chair. "I just wanted to look at it myself."

Delta, probably not noticing that he had embarrassed Simmons, hovered closer. "What would you be looking for?" he asked.

"I don't know," Simmons admitted. He cleared his throat. "I…was just remembering the last time we had access to a computer like this."

Grif squinted his eyes at him. "Huh?"

Simmons felt a bit pressured with both Delta and Grif staring at him. "You know, back when we first defeated the Meta at that Freelancer compound a couple years ago. The EMP incident," he explained. "We, um, deleted the Blues."

"I do not follow," Delta said. His voice seemed so flat compared to Church or O'Malley's. In some ways, it was more unnerving than the more expressive AIs.

"We erased the Blues from the Freelancer database," Simmons said. He shrugged. "And it seems to have worked."

Grif snorted. "No, it didn't. _These_ guys found us and where we were moved to."

Simmons almost had to agree, though he wondered how he could without actually agreeing with Grif. He opened his mouth, but his reply was cut off by Delta.

"Negative," the AI said, surprising them both. "I had not considered it strange, but the information Ada followed to track you to Outpost 17 was based on the knowledge that you were the simulation troops who had been involved with the Meta's destruction."

"Huh?" Simmons and Grif both intoned. That…made no sense.

Delta didn't seem too bothered by their confusion. "In other words, it did not specifically identify by _name_ which of you were present. Just that there were both Red and Blue simulation teams present and you were relocated after your battle with the Meta to Valhalla," he answered, as if he had practice reiterating his statements for people twice. "I do not recall names being listed. I only knew of your identities due to the Alpha's information."

At first, Simmons wanted to question how that mattered. If Freelancer did its homework, they would have known about the Reds anyway and could have tracked them down. They had re-uploaded the Blues to that off-site database, but it didn't seem to have had any wide spread effect for the Freelancer archives at large that still existed. Maybe they didn't have the time to do it recently, with all that upheaval at the UNSC. Even if they didn't have anyone's names anymore, it didn't matter if…

If…the Blues were…

"Wait," Simmons said, feeling sparks of realization shoot down his spine. "That means…"

"They don't have Church's name anymore on the rosters anyway," Grif said, finishing for him, also surprised by their discovery.

"Which means…Wash is safe!" Simmons exclaimed. He laughed. "Awesome!"

It made sense, sort of. If Freelancer had really had Blue records, they would have noticed the fact that "Leonard Church" was still on roster and even Simmons knew that would have summoned the UNSC to their doorstep a lot earlier than this. He vaguely remembered, when they were sent back to Valhalla, having their suit IDs scanned for identification purposes by UNSC soldiers. The Blues had "had a hard time getting a read" on their records, but nothing major had happened when Epsilon-Church's old armor, worn by Wash, was scanned. The numbers were just numbers. No one in the higher command, aside from maybe the Director, would have known Church's ID number as anything more than just some random simulation trooper.

The simulation bases had never been important to the UNSC at large, Wash had told them before. This—the indifference towards the Blues' ruined records, Wash's continued anonymity, the scanning problem months ago—all proved it. For once in his life, Simmons was glad for bureaucratic ineptitude.

"No wonder Tucker was bitching about never getting supplies without demanding them first," Grif said, snorting. He suddenly froze. "Do you think that…?"

"Do I think what?" Simmons asked.

Grif was staring up at him, looking a bit stunned.

"What if we delete _all of us_?" he asked, sounding awed.

Simmons looked at his friend, uncomprehendingly. "Huh?"

"Think about it!" Grif said, waving his hands. "If we delete _our_ names too, the entire Red army, they won't know who _we_ are. If we get out of here and just lay low for a bit, they wouldn't have our identification numbers or names or anything. We'd be, like, off the grid."

Grif was not known for coming up with complicated plans or preparing for future trouble. Simmons, however, had no choice but stare at his friend with open shock.

Grif…was right.

"…holy shit," Simmons said, eyes huge.

If they did escape Freelancer and the immediate UNSC troops after them, and they did in fact get into hiding on Nexus, they could still use their names and identities. They could still go _home_. If they were approached by UNSC later if it got out that they had been soldiers, they could have told the UNSC anything about their deployment or rank or anything and there was no proof either way. Any Freelancer who knew who they were by name was either dead or on their side at that point.

This…could work, Simmons thought. For the first time since all of this craziness had come back into their lives, Simmons felt as though he had come up with their own idea—without Wash or any ex-Freelancer's aid—of how to survive this. Just to have the idea was immensely comforting, but the fact that it could actually work…

Delta suddenly flickered next to them. "I do not think this would be a worthwhile endeavor," he said, sounding like he could have been frowning. "It would require access to a secured server and unrestricted access to the Freelancer database. It is improbable this chance would become available to you."

"I disagree, Delta," a voice behind them said in a mechanical, flat voice.

While Delta merely turned around, Grif and Simmons both jumped into the desk. " _Jesus_!"

There was another light hovering over the AI containment unit. This one was not colorful; it was instead a blob of white light. There were no humanizing features to it, not even its computerized voice.

Simmons felt his eyebrows go up in recognition.

"Hello, Gamma," Delta said, sounding indifferent.

Grif seemed to recognize the new AI as well. He relaxed a bit and seemed to be gawking at Gamma with uncertainty. Simmons swallowed.

"…Gary?" he ventured, sitting back properly in his chair.

"Affirmative," the white blob of light said, flashing twice. "Greetings, members of Simulation Team Red."

Simmons hesitated, glancing to Grif who seemed a bit uncomfortable, and then looked down at the light again. He remembered vividly who Gary was. Church had blamed Gary as being part of that weird alien prophecy with that talking bomb, Andy. Weirder times, but strangely better ones, too.

"…hi," Simmons finally said, venturing to be the diplomat.

Grif scowled at the AI, leaning on his hand again as he clearly got over his surprise. "What do you want?"

Gamma didn't seem to mind his unfriendliness. "The theories you have been postulating are interesting," he said, his voice as mechanical as always.

"They are barely substantive," Delta said, a bit exasperated. Or as exasperated as Simmons had ever heard from the supposedly-unemotional robot.

"But intriguing," Gamma replied. He then seemed to turn his attention back on the Reds. "Removal of personal records from the entirety of the simulation base archives would, in theory, act as a defense against future UNSC inquiries after successfully leaving this place."

"They would need to access the Freelancer command servers. There are none here," Delta insisted. "Besides that, it would do little to prevent future altercations should we be apprehended by Freelancers who already know of their existence. They would be shot indiscriminately."

That was such a lovely thought. Simmons powered through that pessimism.

"But it's still going to help, in the long term," he said, daring to feel optimistic. He turned to Delta. "Do you think we could find one of these servers somewhere else?"

The green AI didn't look pleased, but with a glance towards Gamma and then to the computer, Delta seemed to relent.

"Perhaps," he said at length. The tiny green figure hovered closer. "You may be correct to assume it will benefit you in the event that we do succeed in going underground. Until then, it would be unhelpful, but if we are successful in going into hiding, then you may be correct."

If that was a rousing endorsement from the Logic AI, Simmons decided to take it, because fuck it, this felt like the right thing to do. It just _did_.

"I don't like taking initiative," Grif said, sounding thoughtful. He tapped his chin idly. " _But_ I equally don't like the threat of imminent danger hanging over my head forever."

"This could be our answer!" Simmons said, utterly thrilled.

With just a few clicks and the right access, they could ensure that they could really escape from Freelancer forever. For once, he felt confident that they had a plan that didn't really endanger them further by attempting it. This could totally work.

"Not for Ada or for Agent Iowa," Delta said. He reluctantly conceded with a nod of his tiny, translucent head. "But perhaps you are right."

Simmons nodded and then sat up straighter, facing the computer with renewed determination. "We just have to find a server and do what we did last time."

"Which was?" Grif asked.

"Hit some buttons and delete some shit."

"Cool."

**End** _**Chapter 16** _ **.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, Doc continues to lament his inability to take uninterrupted showers, Ada deals with underlying issues of her own, and Wash has a brain blast.
> 
> **A/Ns** :  
> -Mama-Ada is likely more effective than Mama-Wash under normal conditions.  
> -Being closer to the AIs would likely cause Church to respond more actively to them, positively or negatively. Evidence in canon would be Wash's commentary on how Church reacted positively to Delta's suggestions and was unaffected by O'Malley's possession in Blood Gulch Chronicles. It's been months of close-contact with his missing halves; of course he's going to start to, well, change his attitude towards them. Whether this is going to be positive or negative in the long term is still unclear.  
> -Basically, I had to come up with a reason why the Alpha, supposedly a shell of himself, is as colorful as our darling Church is. Also a reason to explain how he is so dissimilar from the Director when the Alpha was a copy of the dude's brain. Whoops.  
> - ~~The Blues are still "deleted" though older records are likely to have been stored elsewhere. Basically, Freelancer lost their most recent records of Blue Team, thus losing Church's placement on the roster, and this is likely the only reason the Director hadn't gone after "Church" aka Wash from the start. That name definitely would have been noticed by this point. Kudos to the Reds, I guess.~~  
>  -But will deleting more shit actually provide them assistance? Well, we'll just have to wait and see.  
> - **EDIT** : I just re-watched Revelation and realized I'm a dumbass and they DID re-upload the Blues to the off-site database. It's unclear if it actually had an effect on the larger UNSC database, however, so their theory still stands. The fact that "Church" didn't set off any alarm bells serves as minor evidence to support this. Anyway, minor edits above to that section were posted after Jul 25 2014.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a little early because I won't be able to post it until late tomorrow. Enjoy! Today, Doc still can't take showers, Ada realizes that she has things she needs to let go of as well, and Wash has possibly his best (worst) idea yet.
> 
> **Warnings** : implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : _Red vs. Blue_ © RoosterTeeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

 

O'Malley was very, very different than he had been four years ago, Doc had noticed.

When they had first met in Blood Gulch, O'Malley had been a slightly-crazy presence who liked yelling at people and teaming up with mean people like Wyoming to try to do things like taking over the world. He had been happy to have a body, Doc knew then, but O'Malley had never really shown incredible enjoyment over working with Doc of all people. He had lamented loudly about Doc's lack of skills; AIs could only do what their hosts were capable of doing physically. Doc sure wasn't a fighter (and proud of it) but at least he could run fast.

But now… Doc had been surprised and almost unnerved by how much O'Malley had changed. There was still a choking sense of aggression that just did not settle well for Doc's tastes, but there was… something else there now, too.

O'Malley felt wild. It wasn't like before where he remained his own little bubble inside Doc's larger bubble of thoughts. It had been easier to stay away from the aggression back then, since O'Malley seemed to want isolation inside his head, too.

But now, O'Malley was all over. It was like the bubble had burst and it was a flood. Doc didn't like the feeling of being swamped by those heavy thoughts, but he had gotten used to it in time. It was almost cozy, in a totally claustrophobic way. Doc stayed afloat somehow, but it made sense to him that other people could get lost in the rush, like Wash had been.

And what was inside the rush was… intimidating, more so than the actual rush itself. Doc had been surprised by the intensity O'Malley had brought in when they had finally synced up back at Valhalla nearly a week ago. It hadn't made any sense at first, but after getting used to it, Doc was able to pick up on the actual details. And it was…circular.

_Pain. Panic. Desperation. Need. Freedom. Body. Doc._

It was a little unnerving, hearing that in his head over and over when he was awake. It wasn't like Doc was hearing it, either; it was more like intentions or pulses of thoughts or something. He wasn't an expert on AIs or the mechanics of sharing headspace with one, of course.

Arguably, however, he could have been considered an expert on having O'Malley living in his brain. And in Doc's almost-expert opinion, something was really weird about the AI now.

(Not that weird was necessarily bad. Just different.)

It was odd little things that set him off now. If Doc thought about or started to move back toward the main group to interact with anyone, O'Malley rose up like a dark curtain in the back of his mind, practically growling. Even when O'Malley was being extra anti-social, like what Sigma came around (understandably so), he still acted up enough to prevent Doc from, say, attempting to go talk with Wash.

He _really_ didn't like Wash, but Doc could almost understand why. Wash had attacked O'Malley, though Wash was the one who had been more injured by the incident (Doc was glad Iowa had helped Wash set his broken nose afterwards, since Doc couldn't offer to do it himself), which was why Doc had wanted to check in with him at different points of down time they had. O'Malley vehemently refused to allow Doc to go near Wash alone. It was a little irritating, but Doc knew it was just a tiny bit justified.

Being stuck in a tiny little science outpost in the middle of a blizzard just seemed like a good time to try to catch up. Wash had been really tired, like the rest of them, so Doc didn't think about trying to chat that night when they settled in. His body was still aching from Sigma's attack on them earlier that day, so Doc was all too willing to try to sleep it off. O'Malley hadn't protested going to sleep right away either, since he seemed just as tired as Doc was.

When he woke up, he was surprised to see Iowa had taken Wash's chair. The other Freelancer had apparently gone out to keep watch. Doc pondered if it was worth going outside to check on him—since O'Malley was still mostly-asleep in his robot-way—but suddenly Wash came back inside, letting in a huge gust of snow. It was howling outside and Wash quickly shut the door to seal it back off.

"Is it still snowing?" Doc asked, before he could think twice. It was really early, so he seemed to be the only other one up.

Wash had flinched at the sound of his voice—he always seemed to do that anymore, Doc noted a little glumly.

"It's a blizzard," Wash said, his words clipped. He nudged Iowa awake. "We have a problem, Iowa."

And they _did_ have a problem. A big one.

The snow wasn't stopping. Doc had woken up around four and the others had woken up shortly after in response to Iowa and Wash's not-too-quiet murmurs. Ada retrieved Delta to put into her suit to be part of the conversation.

"What do you mean the storm's still here?" Tucker asked, alarmed. "I thought you guys said it was going to blow over soon."

"The weather report said that," Wash said, rubbing his face, looking exhausted. Doc felt irrationally guilty looking at him. "Looks like they were off."

"Incoming weather radar from UNSC open channels indicate the storm is weakening at a far slower rate than first predicted," Delta added, not sounding too happy himself. "We can expect snow for another eight hours."

"Aw, man!" Grif exclaimed. "What are we going to do now?"

"The same thing we planned on," Iowa said, leaning against the wall. Doc didn't like how tired he looked either. "That's eight hours we can't move in, but that's also eight hours Freelancer can't move in. Storms up here are serious shit. They wouldn't risk a shuttle in this weather, not when they don't have a reason to rush this."

Wash sent him a look, his eyes tight around the edges. "We're risking hitting this place at the same time they will," he said. "We're still forty minutes out."

"We'll still have the advantage of surprise, won't we?" Iowa asked. "We'll have to take what we can get."

Simmons' shoulders drooped as most of the others also reacted with disappointment and fear. "Jesus…"

It didn't sound good to Doc, even being someone who decidedly removed himself from planning attacks or anything remotely aggressive. He understood that the soldiers in their midst did need to figure things out and he was disappointed for them that the weather wasn't working in their favor.

Sitting to the side, he watched his friends try to come up with another plan of action. They couldn't leave in the blizzard. Iowa and Wash were clearly upset about it, as were many others, but Grif and Caboose seemed to be a little relieved about not having to go back out into the cold. Doc shivered in his armor, understanding that sentiment. It was _really_ cold.

O'Malley was still asleep. He was in his "cloud" mode, on the horizon of Doc's mind. Doc sighed, sympathetic towards the AI. No wonder he was so grumpy lately (or at least a little grumpier than he had been before, which had still be pretty grumpy.) O'Malley seemed tired all the time. It was almost like the AI was sick.

It was just one more unfortunate thing to be happening to them all. Doc brought his knees to his chest and sighed to himself.

"We're going to be stuck here for eight hours. This is bullshit," Tucker said.

"How sure are you that these Freelancers can't plow through this snow using their fancy Freelancer snow plowing devices?" Sarge demanded.

Iowa rolled his eyes. "I would bet money on the fact they won't."

"How much money?" Grif asked, slouching in one of the chairs. Iowa glared at him.

"We need to go over plans for the attack, anyway," Wash said, preemptively stalling an argument. Doc always liked that about Wash. "We're going to need to organize this even tighter than we had planned before."

" _Ooh_ ," Donut said. Simmons shushed him sharply.

Wash rolled his eyes; apparently that was a Freelancer thing to do. "Alright, Grif and Tucker, you'll take the cars. If we separate into three teams, with one to go straight for Epsilon inside, we can hope that we can divide up their numbers quickly and keep things isolated..."

Doc kept quiet as they discussed theories and plans that might work. The base they were headed for was UNSC-controlled, but had Freelancer backing in the past. That's probably why the ex-Freelancers under UNSC command were selected to intercept the AI unit held there, since they could claim expertise, or so Wash said. That seemed logical enough. At that point, Iowa added, they still had the element of surprise and non-Freelancers at the base.

Once the Freelancers hit the place, they'd have more trouble, but they weren't the Freelancers the Reds or Blues were used to. They weren't Carolinas or Maines, Wash said wryly. Still, they aimed to move quickly. That had to be the core element of their planning.

There was little Doc could offer at that point. He didn't want to head into another fight, with more violence and potentially permanent injuries, but he knew that O'Malley was probably a useful asset there. Doc wished he had more a say in using his body for violence, however, since he thankfully hadn't gotten used to that aspect of his new life at the very least.

He really wanted a shower, too.

"Hmm," he said, pondering his choices at the moment.

O'Malley stirred a little. Doc decided that it was a pretty good time to try it.

He stood up and moved around the others, knowing that he'd just have to trust their judgment on plan making. He had his own goal at the moment. As he went to slip into the hallway, he caught Tucker's attention.

"Where are you going?" the teal soldier asked, frowning.

"The shower," Doc said, pointing back to the furthest area of the outpost. "I'll be right back."

Tucker hesitated, his eyes darting back to the others briefly before he nodded. "Uhh, sure?"

When he had seen the bathroom the night prior, the idea of taking a quick shower had been just an idle thought. Now that they were stuck there for a few more hours, Doc had been enticed by the notion of being clean. They didn't need him at that point anyway. He could afford to slip away.

At the end of the hallway was a tiny little bathroom. It was a single room shower, plus a toilet and sink. It looked miraculously clean compared to the mess at Red Base. Doc walked inside, shutting the door quietly behind him, and observed the stark gray room with delight.

He eyed the shower and was thoroughly tempted.

_There's no reason why not_ , he thought.

Well, actually, he realized, there was.

Almost prophetically, O'Malley emerged from his cloud, slinking over Doc's brain like encroaching, but not choking fog.

_What are you doing?_

Doc sighed a little, knowing O'Malley was going to be unhappy at first.

"O'Malley, can I take a shower?" he asked, out loud, knowing that asking was always the most polite option. His voice barely echoed out of his helmet, but he had a feeling the room would echo pretty loudly once he took it off.

" _What?_ " O'Malley asked, his voice biting as he abruptly took his shared control over Doc's body. " _No. Don't even think about taking off your helmet!_ "

"It smells," Doc whined. "And it's gross."

" _You had a shower last week!_ "

Sort of and it barely counted. "That's like a whole week ago!" Doc exclaimed. He frowned. "O'Malley, please?"

O'Malley, inside of his head, loomed. " _No!_ "

"Seriously, though, being clean would be soooo better for our morale. Think about it. No more smell, no more feeling like we're sleeping in our own—" Doc's eloquent reasoning was cut off by O'Malley's irritation. " _Ugh! Enough! Just hurry up about it and lock the door_."

O'Malley wasn't immune to human needs, Doc had learned. He had grown adept at ignoring them, but all the same, he had to give in at certain points. Doc chose to view it as a victory and he hummed with contentment.

He knew the water was going to be _freezing_ , but a quick wipe down was much better than feeling a week's worth of sweat and grime on his skin.

Cheerfully optimistic about at least their shared hygiene, Doc turned around to shut and lock the door.

He got as far as putting his hand on the flat door handle.

"This is going to feel great—," Doc began to say.

He was interrupted when suddenly a wall of blue armor replaced the door, which slammed back loudly. It was immediately clear who it was.

"Eep! Wash!" Doc squeaked, stumbling backwards into the sink.

It was understandably alarming when Wash let the door slide back shut behind him once he took a step forward.

" _Washington_!" O'Malley snarled, leaping forward to grab control of their body.

It was too late, unfortunately. Doc yelped, both out loud and inside his head overtop of O'Malley's angry shouts, as Wash knocked O'Malley's swing aside and looped his own arm around Doc's head. He yanked them forward, swinging them back into the room and slamming Doc's shoulder and head into the tile wall.

O'Malley howled something not-so-nice and Doc winced as Wash pinned them to the wall with his full weight. O'Malley was strong, but neither he nor Doc were stronger than Wash.

Wash spoke, his helmet pressed right up against Doc's.

"If you don't let him take off the helmet and temporarily disconnect from you _right now_ , I will rip your radio right out of this fucking suit," the ex-Freelancer began, his voice low and dangerous, as he spoke directly to O'Malley. "Even if you survive that, you'll be trapped inside of it. Make a choice, Omega."

O'Malley was _furious_. " _You_ _miserable little_ _—!_ "

"Make a choice!" Wash snapped, slamming their head back against the wall, his grip absolute.

Doc was absolutely confused. Hadn't Wash been talking with the others? What about the planning? Had Tucker told Wash where Doc had gone and the ex-Freelancer had just... come running? For what? The opportunity to boot O'Malley out of Doc's head?

O'Malley was a riotous mass of dark anger in their shared headspace. He hated Wash, Doc could feel. That sort of hate was sickening to encounter and Doc winced as he didn't have anywhere to hide from it now, with a bubble-less AI in his head.

_O'Malley, maybe we should do it,_ Doc thought quickly, trying his best to diffuse both Wash and O'Malley's anger. _H-he seems really mad!_

_I will rip his innards out of his stomach! I'll drape them over our armor and leave the rest of his corpse for scavengers!_

_Ew, please don't._

Hissing both in their head and out loud, O'Malley struggled against Wash, but Wash was practically immovable.

Doc tried to think quickly. He really, really did not have the energy to get into a physical fight again, with anyone. O'Malley didn't take things like their body's limits into consideration on his good days. Now, he wasn't thinking straight at all.

_O'Malley, I promise, I won't let him do anything to you_ , Doc thought. _I'll put the helmet on right away after we're done talking._

_I am going to kill him! Eviscerate him! Dance on his grave!_

_Please, don't. That would be really bad. We need him to get out of this mess, remember?_

_I need you! Not him!_

Doc tried to think of that in a positive light.

_Right. Well, let's play nice and get him to let go of my head, okay?_

O'Malley was enraged enough that it Doc's head was beginning to hurt. Possessive flares of anger were the worst, Doc thought idly.

Loops of the same thing— _pain panic pain need freedom need body FREELANCER—_ made Doc wince.

Doc wished he could have laid claim to being the one to have calmed O'Malley down to a rational level, but Wash probably held the credit. His hand grasping O'Malley's locked-down helmet radio was most likely the cause of O'Malley forcing himself to calm down.

The threat to his continued existence, not necessarily his current one, was enough to reach past the rage, thankfully.

_Do it, fast, and then put it back on_ , O'Malley snarled. _I mean it, DuFresne!_

Doc sighed, his body resuming in his control and it sagged a bit against the wall.

"Wash?" he ventured, clearing his throat to keep the waver out of it. O'Malley receded that time like a fog in reverse. "H-he said to take off the helmet."

Wash didn't let the medic do it himself, just in case it was a ruse. He grabbed the release and all but flung the helmet off.

Whatever O'Malley did for voluntary disconnection from Doc's suit was a lot better than being forced to disconnect. It felt weird when the AI suddenly wasn't there anymore, but it didn't hurt when compared to the forced method. Doc still winced at the flurry of action around his face. He heard the helmet clatter on the floor and he wanted to grab it in alarm, since the AI was trapped in there and did that _hurt_?

"Wash—?" he began, alarmed as Wash stood back from him, letting him up from the wall for a brief second.

"Shut the fuck up," Wash snapped, grabbing the medic by the shoulders to push him back against the wall, facing him that time.

Doc flinched on instinct, but was relieved that Wash didn't do anything really violent. Instead, the ex-Freelancer—who looked so, so tired now that they were so close and face to face—seemed to grasp at Doc's head with the intent of finding something.

"Does your head hurt?" Wash asked, speaking quickly. He grabbed Doc's head and turned it sharply to the left as he looked for whatever it was he was looking for. "Or have you had any nosebleeds?"

Doc tolerated the manhandling, mainly because he was too shocked to protest. "N-no?"

"Are you sure? This whole time, no headaches or ringing in the ears?"

"I mean, when Sigma beat up O'Malley, that hurt afterwards," Doc started to say. He stopped when Wash released his head and took a physical step backwards.

The ex-Freelancer had always had bags under his eyes and gray hair at his temples. Now, Doc could see that his eyes were even darker and hair seemed even grayer. The last week had done real damage to Wash, he had expected that, but seeing Wash staring at him like that…

It somewhat hurt. Mainly because Doc realized that part of Wash's stress had been in connection to Doc's predicament, though that still didn't quite make sense to Doc.

"You are a fucking idiot," the ex-Freelancer began, voice going from the cold, flat tone he had used earlier to a heated anger. "A total, absolute moron."

Doc was floundering. "What did I _do_?"

Wrong question. "You agreed to let O'Malley _stay_ inside your head? You are out of your—goddamn it, this isn't a game!" Wash exclaimed. He threw his arms in the air. "He's a monster! He's—!"

Against his usual intentions, Doc took minor offense at that.

"I know exactly what he is, thank you very much," Doc said, making a note to apologize later for interrupting the other man, but he was starting to sound like he wasn't going to stop. "Wash, he's been in my head, well, I guess all together, over a year."

Wash stared at him, his blue eyes blazing. Doc swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

"I don't think I'm crazier for it. I…I know he's…not very nice. I wouldn't call him a monster," he continued. He glanced quickly at the discarded helmet and then back up at Wash, lacing his fingers together nervously. "You don't know what he's been through."

"I do," Wash said, his voice cold and flat again.

It took Doc a second. At first, it made little sense, since Wash was human and not an AI, so he couldn't have experienced the sort of thing that O'Malley had…

Oh.

Doc felt like a heel.

"…Oh. Right," he said, knowing an apology was sort of useless. "I'm sorry. I…forgot. You know what they went through, don't you? From Epsilon?"

The deadened glare at Wash was sending him spoke volumes.

"Wash, I'm sorry," Doc tried again, wanting to reach out to the other man, but he stopped himself.

"Shut up," Wash said, shortly. Thankfully, he didn't seem too upset. Just continually irritated. He gestured at the helmet on the floor. "What is stopping him from never letting you take off the suit in the future?"

Doc shrugged. "He is affected by smells, so he lets me take it off for showers now and maybe for sleeping, too!"

" _Lets_ ," Wash repeated, his lips pulled up into a sneer.

"We're working on the partnership thing. He's getting better," Doc insisted. He hesitated. "Sort of."

Wash did _Not Look Impressed_. Doc wanted to wilt under his glare. He wanted to fix things between them—and between Wash and O'Malley, if only to avoid the AI from trying to lash out at Wash in the future—but it seemed impossible.

He tried anyway. "I know…it's bad from your perspective," Doc began. He frowned. "I don't think its fair that the others are upset that you're upset. I know you're just worried about me."

To his minor surprise, Wash didn't even try to deny it. "It's not right. We're not just…puppets!" Wash snapped. He glared. "He's going to _use_ you."

Doc nodded. "I know."

"Why are you just going along with it? !"

"Because he needs me," Doc said. He sighed quietly. "I don't need him, but didn't you hear how desperate he was? He's been abused and he asked for me."

"Because he's insane!" Wash exclaimed.

Doc wrung his hands. "Maybe he is, but he still asked for my help!"

"He doesn't ask. He takes," Wash said, his voice getting heated and angry again. He suddenly reached out and jabbed Doc's chest with his finger. "You think that you're different than all the others he's possessed? You—you are such a fucking coward—you are so goddamn _weak_!"

The bitterness was surprising. The words really weren't. Doc knew that Wash didn't think that highly of him as a medic and certainly not as a warrior. He had hoped they were friends, or at least could become friends, but that had been before O'Malley had returned.

Before so many of Doc's faults were brought out in Wash's eyes, it seemed.

Kindness was often seen as weakness. Doc wasn't the best medic and he wasn't the kindest person out there.

Still.

Doc didn't say anything. He let Wash stand there, angry and hurt and confused, and he let the man uncoil on his own.

At Doc's silence, Wash seemed to notice what he had said. A flash of something—it could have been regret, but Doc wasn't sure—crossed Wash's eyes.

"Sorry," Wash said, his voice catching. He stepped backwards, putting distance between them again. "I…"

"It's fine," Doc said. He forced a smile. "Thank you, for the concern. I'm sure O'Malley won't hurt me deliberately. Others…well, I can only hope he'll calm down now."

Wash seemed desperate to put distance between his earlier words, so he latched on to what Doc said rather quickly. "What makes you think he will?"

How to explain this? Doc hummed, thoughtful. "His mind is…very circular. Only when its calm, or when I'm by myself, does he start thinking like he used to, like, about hurting others. Or taking over the universe." He shrugged. "When we're all together, or when something is going on, he just…loops."

That, of all things, caused Wash to turn to face him from his attempt to glare at the wall. Wash's eyes were sharp and attentive. "About what?" he asked.

"I…" Doc tried to think of how to explain it with actual words. "About me…making sure there's no threat to our mutual lives. He is really wrapped up in that whole 'my body equals my freedom thing.'"

"Which still makes him dangerous," Wash concluded, his eyes narrowed again.

"Only if we're threatened," Doc said, knowing it wasn't that much of a comfort. He scratched the back of his head, suddenly grateful he could do that for real. "It's actually a great step forward for him. Normally, he'd take those opportunities to threaten others."

Wash frowned. "Why do you think that is?"

Doc blinked. "Huh? Oh, well, he was changed a lot, wasn't he? Dr. Livingston mentioned how O'Malley merged with that Xi thing before they got here," he said, recalling what little he could remember of the psychologist's words and from the weird feedback he got from O'Malley sometimes. "Now that you mention it, sometimes I think O'Malley feels a little different than he did a few years ago. Maybe it's because there's two of them in there now?"

He hadn't seen too much from O'Malley about the whole thing. O'Malley had entered his head abruptly back at Valhalla, after Doc told him to leave Wash alone, and had swamped him for a few minutes. Doc didn't want to think he was used to the AI, but he supposed he was and that was why it hadn't crippled him like it seemed to have for poor Wash.

The only thing that had really stood out to Doc was the brief and choking sense of cold relief when O'Malley got into his head.

That overwhelming feeling—the almost child-like thought—that, finally, _he was safe._

That alone had made Doc feel unbearably sad for the AI, no matter what the AI had done before.

"How messed up is he?" Wash asked, crossing his arms so tightly against his chest that Doc knew that it was a forced effort to appear casual.

"I..." Doc shook his head. "He's not good, Wash. I mean, he's okay. He's not dying. But..."

Wash did not look surprised. "He's unstable."

"I don't know if he is or not. But he's trying!" Doc said, trying to be positive. He looked down at O'Malley, wanting to pick him back up, but Wash probably wouldn't have liked that. "He's still hanging in there. Like that one kitty poster."

That apparently confused Wash for a second. "Huh—oh." He made a strange face and then responded sarcastically. "That's charming. But even you have to admit that having him being unstable when we're entering a war zone is a bad idea."

"Well, we can't do anything about it," Doc said, wondering just how weird his life had become that he was defending O'Malley of all people. Oh, well. He figured that was just how things were, as unfortunately unfair as they were for everyone. "He's—he needs to feel comfortable. If that's the only good I can provide here for the team, I mean, I'm glad to help."

He wasn't good for a lot. Doc tried to be a good medic. He tried to be a good ear for his friends to speak to. He had tried his absolute hardest to help Wash. He didn't often succeed in any of those things.

But if he could help O'Malley, who apparently hadn't done much to deserve what had happened to him this time, Doc decided that he was perfectly fine with that. He might not have been the best medic out there, but he was enough of one where helping people was what he wanted to do most.

Wash was watching him carefully. His eyes were still narrowed, but Doc was relieved to see that the glare wasn't really as sharp. The ex-Freelancer shifted on his feet, leaning back against the door.

"You're not..." Wash sighed heavily and sent Doc a look the medic couldn't properly identify. His voice was a lot less harsh, too. "You're not just an AI's punching bag, Doc. You're more than that."

Doc blinked.

Oh.

"Look," Wash began, his voice heavy. "I know you want to help. I don't fully understand it, but I know that you just want to do right by him. But letting him run around in your body isn't just putting you at risk."

Doc fidgeted. "I know."

Wash frowned. "Can you stop him from running off again?"

"I...probably...not?" Doc said. He winced at Wash's unimpressed look. "He's gotten stronger because he's been in my head, I think. I think it might be helping to stabilize him."

Wash snorted. "I doubt that. Livingston said that Omega had been really screwed up by that... other... AI..."

Doc had waited for Wash to continue, but he was surprised to see that the ex-Freelancer wasn't looking at him or at O'Malley. His gaze had drifted off to the side, his eyes wide and his mouth partially open, his sentence left unfinished.

"Wash?" Doc asked, surprised. "What is it?"

Whatever realization Wash had made was a significant one, it seemed. Wash's mouth closed and his eyes hardened, but he still had a distant look of discovery.

"What if he merged with another AI?" Wash asked, breaking the silence, his eyes finally going back to Doc.

Doc did not follow.

"What?" he asked, unintelligently.

"He got into this mess by merging with the Xi AI, right?" Wash continued, sounding rather excited for a man who didn't get excited. "What if he did it again, with a saner one?"

Doc hesitated. "I…I don't know. I don't know much about the AIs."

The idea of merging seemed terribly complex and dangerous, if O'Malley's condition was any indicator.

"I don't know if it would work, but…maybe it could mellow him out," Wash said, his eyes brighter. It made Doc's stomach flip. Wash continued, shaking his head slowly. "We _cannot_ afford to chase him down if he has another temper tantrum. He's not even stabilized enough to fight Sigma off in Donut's body, for crying out loud. He's a liability right now."

Those were decent points, but Doc…he wasn't sure. Ada hadn't seemed to think it was a safe process. Doc also felt like Wash was overreacting a little. O'Malley had tried to leave before, sure, but he wasn't…he didn't…

"That's probably not going to work…O'Malley won't hear of it, I'll bet anything," Doc said, not wanting to ruin the source of Wash's apparent optimism. It was rare for the ex-Freelancer to look that hopeful. "And I don't think Ada will like it either."

That surprised Wash. "Why not?"

"Well, you heard her. She wants to get the AIs to safety first, after getting Epsilon," Doc said, shrugging again.

"We don't have that sort of time," Wash said. He suddenly stood up straight and he pointed at Doc. "You can't put your helmet back on until we figure this out."

Doc gaped at him, horrified. "But I promised I would put it on after we talked!" He didn't want to lie to O'Malley! The AI would be so upset!

Wash ignored him. He reached out and grabbed Doc's arm. "We're not done talking. Come on!"

"W-wait! Wash, what about O'Malley?!" Doc exclaimed as the ex-Freelancer shoved the door open and hauled them both out. "Wash!"

This could not possibly end well.

**0000**

When Wash stalked off to terrorize his doctor-crush, Iowa had been content to let the discussions of the attack peter out for now. Everyone was panicking over the weather and were groggy from lack of sleep. They could take a short time to relax, wake up, and recollect their plans.

That was easier said than done. Mostly everyone was up and stayed up, agitated and on edge about the questionable nature of their plans. The Reds were really irritated that Wash stormed off, but Tucker had pleaded for patience.

"You know he's got issues," the teal soldier said, stopping Sarge from going back after Wash. "Let them deal and we can get a few more hours sleep, maybe?"

That was a nice idea, but Iowa wasn't going to be sitting around for hours while Wash got done whatever he needed to get done with the medic (he did keep his ear out for screaming, in case one of them actually did attack the other because of O'Malley). They didn't have time to be having personal issues debated.

However, he did feel a little bit like the pot calling the kettle black in comparison while he moved over to sit with Ada in the little computer room. He had been amused when Caboose had gone to her, begging for company, and she had relented, bringing him back to where the AIs were. Leaning against the door watching her install the AI into the other suit, Iowa had to smile at the sight.

"One more second…there." Ada smiled up at the big, blond Blue soldier and patted his arm. "You both alright?"

Zeta popped up gleefully next to Caboose's shoulder. "Yay! Thanks, Ada!"

"Thank you for letting Zeta come out to play!" Caboose said, beaming. "It's so boring here! Tucker won't play with me and Simmons said it was too small inside to play tag."

"Yes, that would be a bad idea," Ada agreed. She waved as the two scampered off back to the main room. "Play those word games we played before in the lab, Zeta."

"Okay!" Zeta said. He waved excitedly as Caboose moved past Iowa. "Hi, Jason! Bye, Jason!"

"See ya, Zee," Iowa said, chuckling as they left.

Ada smiled at him from the desk chair. "They were getting antsy," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "Delta suggested it. We really don't need a bored Caboose on top of everything else."

No, Iowa reasoned, they didn't. Caboose seemed to genuinely like Zeta and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Zeta had never been intended for combat and Caboose seemed unwilling to inflict harm on anyone, which was odd considering the man was built like a tank. Still, Iowa decided that was a good thing.

"I'm giving Wash half an hour before I make him come back out," Iowa said, sitting down slowly in the other chair. "You don't think it'll be a problem?"

"Oh, I am very wary of Washington's intentions towards O'Malley," Ada said, sighing. She turned the chair to face him as he sat down. "But they do need to settle their issues. Wash is right to worry about O'Malley running off, but I wish he would be less…"

"Overdramatic about it?" Iowa offered, smirking.

Ada rolled her eyes. "If he wants to get another broken nose, fine, but we really do need to start worrying about the toll this in-fighting has had on Mr. DuFresne."

Point. Iowa sighed and stretched with a quiet groan in the chair, his legs entangling with hers. She didn't move away and Iowa decided to enjoy it for the moment.

"The Reds are complaining the loudest, but it's not like we can just turn the weather off," he said. He glanced up at the AIs. "How're the kids with this?"

Ada's expression spoke volumes. "Sigma is naturally displeased, but she hasn't argued to be released from the unit," she said. She rubbed her hand over her brow, frustrated but not admitting it. "Delta's keeping a close eye on the storm radar, but the storm is making most of the information delayed. He's running some sort of subroutine right now to try to amplify the signal, so let's not ask him about it again until he resurfaces."

Iowa nodded. "Fair enough. For a bunch of AWOLs hanging out in a shack in the woods, I guess it's good some of us are doing some work."

"You and Agent Washington are doing far above and beyond what's required of you," Ada said, oddly firm. "Maybe you should take this time to take a nap."

"Oh, but I'll miss watching Zeta terrorize Church and Tucker," Iowa said, gesturing out the door, where Caboose had plunked himself and Zeta down in the middle of the others' conversation.

Ada snorted and shook her head. She had her hair up again in the familiar bun Iowa was used to seeing back on the _Falcon_. Several dark curls had escaped and she tucked them behind her ears. Iowa had only offered once in jest to play with her hair, months ago, before everything had gone so bad, but she had jokingly told him no. Part of him wanted to ask again, this time utterly serious.

A nap sounded real good. Iowa sank lower in his chair and contemplated shutting his eyes, just for a few minutes. His eyes drifted to the door and he could see their hapless allies sitting together. They were all muttering amongst themselves, gesturing, trying to think up their own ways out of this. They were trying hard to figure things out, as if they wanted to outpace Iowa and Wash.

He didn't have the heart to tell them that he and Wash didn't have the answers, either.

They were all shades messed up, he thought idly, a ghost of a smile reaching his lips.

He hoped it would be enough to get them out their situation.

Glancing across from him, he saw Ada watching the others, a contemplative expression on her face.

"I had an interesting conversation with Church last night," she said, without prompt. "Before bed."

Iowa blinked. "Oh?" he asked. He remembered seeing Ada sit down and then… "Oh, right. He was in your suit. How was that?"

"He was unobtrusive," Ada said, smiling as if finding something amusing about the idea. The smile wavered. "He's afraid."

"Of what?" Iowa asked, sitting up properly.

"Multiple things. But he's mainly concerned with losing his identity." Ada glanced out the door, where Church, inside Tucker's armor again, was currently yelling at Zeta and Caboose to tone it down. "He is very fragile."

"Understandable." Iowa shrugged. "He's been real useful."

"I know," Ada said, shaking her head sadly. "I hope that isn't making it worse."

"How so?" Iowa asked, surprised. Church had seemed overly helpful, sure, but he didn't see how that could be bad for the AI himself.

Ada's expression grew darker. "Dragging out his AI abilities now, with the promise of unification with Epsilon once we have him, could be… triggering for him, self-consciously."

That…made a little sense, even to Iowa, who wasn't sure of a lot of the facts concerning the mysterious AI integration plan. "I thought he thought he was a ghost?" he asked, hesitant.

Ada smiled at him, sadly. "Dead men probably don't believe in their mortality even after death."

Iowa hummed. "Point."

He did feel bad about the Alpha. Church was really trying his best to help them, or so it seemed. If he was feeling some sort of backlash from being around the other AIs or using his AI-related skills, that could be bad for everyone. Iowa knew that out of all the AIs, the Alpha was the one who was really broken. How "Church" had managed to function as he had, it was a true mystery to Iowa—

"Iowa."

"Yeah?" he asked, turning back to face her.

The look on Ada's face—tense, sad, but not unhappy—made him pause. The way that she was sitting—facing him, her attention unwavering and absolute—made him feel afraid.

"I forgive you," she said.

Iowa could only look at her, feeling more open and exposed than ever before.

She hadn't said it cruelly. She sounded like she had meant it. He knew exactly what she was talking about, even with only those three words.

"Oh?" he asked, his voice catching. He blinked twice, rapidly. "Th-that's…good."

Ada took a deep breath and smiled tentatively.

"It's not a sudden thing," she said. She let her hands rest in her lap, almost too at ease. "I think I've forgiven you since you helped us escape. And then I began to realize that I don't think I ever really blamed you. It was so easy for me to forget while helping the AIs that there were in fact humans who were abused and tortured by Freelancer as well. Perhaps in worse ways."

"Ada…" he began, not entirely sure he wanted her to continue. He felt like he was dreaming.

He hadn't deserved forgiveness for what he had done. He remembered the terror in his gut when he realized he had helped Freelancer torture the AIs just one more time. He remembered the horror he felt when he realized that he had to tell Ada the truth about what he had done.

That single moment she had looked at him with fear and disgust had been one of the worst moments in his life, for so many reasons.

The look in her eyes now stopped him and his thoughts.

"You're a good man. Far better a person than I am most times. You… you're risking things that you probably shouldn't have to risk," she said, sounding serious. She spoke slowly, carefully. "And I know you're doing it because you think it's the right thing. I'm grateful. So very grateful."

A twinge of something unpleasant appeared in his gut. "I don't know how good I am, though I'm glad you think otherwise," Iowa said. He wanted to laugh, to try to brush it off, but he couldn't.

"You're _helping_ us," she said, frowning.

"I'm helping _you_ ," Iowa said, smiling tightly. He knew just what the AIs thought about him and his help, anyway.

"I don't believe that," Ada said, her voice softer. When he looked back at her, she was smiling at him gently. "Maybe, you wouldn't have gone this far had it just been you with the AIs. But I've seen your actions. Your words. You know you're doing the right thing, with or without me. I think that you're a lot stronger and a lot better a man than you think you are."

He hated it when she did that. He wanted to hate the idea that someone as good as her would say the same of him. He wasn't. He couldn't have been. Freelancer weeded out good people. That was almost scientific fact as far as Iowa knew.

Still, he wanted to believe it all the same.

"That a solid diagnosis, doc?" he asked, forcing himself to grin a little. His chest was burning.

"Maybe," she said. She met his eyes, her own gaze a little sadder. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

It wasn't a forceful kiss. Gentle, closed, and delicate. The fullness of her lips melded against his perfectly, the connection brief but real.

Pulling back, Ada watched him carefully. Her eyes were always careful. They judged, but didn't pity or condemn. The way she saw the world must have been quite the sight.

Iowa stared back, feeling many different things at once.

He had been an Earth brat, an Army brat, who took to space once he could enlist. He remembered feeling bitter about colony kids, jealous of their ability to live somewhere past the smog filled cities of Earth.

As he got older, he started to mock colony-reared humans. Spacers, colonists, exo-Americans—they were all the same when he met them. They were either ridiculously rich or ridiculously poor, all with the wrong kinds of manners and lingo. Iowa had spent most of his UNSC service among fellow soldiers, but whenever they were waylaid in civilian colony space, he could only laugh at the idea of ever being one of them himself.

When he met Ada, he had believed the same things of her. That she was some too-well-educated colonist who had lost the feel of Earth, who had never been there, and it sometimes made Iowa wonder what that meant for humanity down the line, with their kind spread out so far amongst the stars. Ada had been cold, antagonistic, and snobbish at first glance. She hated him because of the armor he wore. In a way, he hated her back, if only to be petty. He thought she was irrelevant.

Somewhere along the lines, something changed.

Iowa stopped judging her accent or her origins (especially when he learned she had lived on Reach until just before it fell.). He started to watch the sessions closer and pay attention to how Ada worked her magic, talking sense with creatures Iowa had only considered to be monsters. That idealizing, selfless, naïve, righteous, pure-hearted doctor became his center of gravity on that ship.

Idealism and reality didn't work. Iowa had blamed Ada for being a space-headed colonist, a sheltered brain who had no concept of what good and evil actually were. She hadn't understood the reality of their world, of Freelancer's actions, of Iowa's own.

By the time he had realized he had fallen for her, Iowa had learned exactly what _good_ and _evil_ were—and it was because Ada had guided him to see he hadn't been on the right side the entire time.

Everything that he had been in Freelancer was wiped away. When she looked at him like a friend, Iowa had never been freer.

Somehow, that had left a lasting impression.

Iowa stared at her, her familiar dark eyes and faint freckles peeking out of her skin. He swallowed.

"Oh," he said.

Ada, shyly looking down once before looking back up at him, seemed a lot calmer than he felt.

"I'm not someone who can separate work from personal problems easily, so I've always tried to keep a step back," she said. She gently placed her hands on her knees, deliberately light. "I've clearly failed doing so with my patients, considering where I am now, but I don't regret that. And I don't really regret this either."

"Ada, I…" Iowa began, failing. He stopped speaking and instead reached out to take one of her hands.

She let him. He held hers between both of his hands and stared at it.

It wasn't the time or place for this. He knew it. She knew it. The fact that she had reached out to him now meant something to him, however. The fact that she wasn't… that she didn't hate him or reject him was more than comforting.

Squeezing her hand, Iowa looked back up at her and smiled. Ada smiled back, a little watery, but it was a beautiful sight.

"Thank you," Iowa said, cradling the hand held in his.

He hadn't doubted their journey was the right thing, but he knew that having Ada believe in him—trust him after everything she knew and didn't know about him—was what kept him going that long.

If that was all he could get, it was more than he deserved, Iowa knew.

Clearing his throat, he let her take her hand back and he tried his best to focus on what mattered most at that point in time: survival.

"When we get going, you're going to have to in the team that's going to grab Epsilon. If he's still cognizant, you might need to talk him down," he said, his briskness a bit jarring.

Thankfully, Ada didn't seem to mind the abrupt conversation change. She nodded. "I know. I'm surprised you agree," she said, one eyebrow up.

Iowa frowned. "I don't like it. I'll be going with you, but you have to follow my orders, okay?" he asked. He leaned forward a little, making sure she was listening. "In the heat of battle, there are going to be bullets flying and they're not going to care if you're a civilian in armor or not. You keep your head down, move when I tell you to, and don't try to be a hero."

"As long as I can get to Epsilon, I don't care what I have to do," Ada said, lips tugged downwards a little.

He wouldn't have expected any less. Iowa nodded. "Who would you want along with you?"

"Besides you? Obviously not the AI containment unit. I would suggest leaving it hidden, perhaps even in this outpost," Ada said. She looked thoughtful, biting at her lip. Iowa did his best to ignore that. "With me _personally_? I would say Delta for sure."

"I agree on that one. He'll be more help to you."

Ada sighed quietly. "While Sigma would likely be an excellent source of physical support, I'm leery of her mental state. That said, if you and Agent Washington approve, she'd probably be a good person for protecting us."

"O'Malley might, too," Iowa said, smirking at the thought. O'Malley would never play bodyguard for long. He wasn't stable either, so Iowa wasn't sure if he could handle being in the middle of the action either.

"But what about Mr. DuFresne?" Ada asked, surprised. "He's probably still injured."

Oh, right. Iowa had to admit that was a fair point, too. "Yeah, well, we haven't heard him complaining about anything so—," he began to say, but a loud clatter in the hallway cut him off.

Ada had jumped at the noise and Iowa only belatedly realized the sound came from further inside the outpost, not from outside or the main room. That didn't stop him from reaching for his pistol when Washington almost slammed into the doorjamb as he flung himself at the computer room. The older Freelancer looked hassled to the say the least. Behind him, Doc was peaking around his shoulder, shockingly helmet-less.

"Livingston!" Wash exclaimed, eyes on the startled psychologist at the desk.

Iowa, eyes narrowing, didn't remove his hand from his gun.

"Oh! Yes?" Ada asked, eyes huge.

"What's the problem, Wash?" Iowa asked.

Wash, despite looking just as tired as Iowa felt, looked oddly…upbeat. Or at least as upbeat as the dour man could get. "Livingston, we need to talk," the blue armored ex-Freelancer said, standing straighter.

"A-about what—oh, Mr. DuFresne? !" Ada gasped, standing upright when she caught sight of Doc. She looked horrified. "Where's—where's O'Malley? !"

"In the bathroom," Wash said, impatient. "Forget about him for a second."

"What's going on?" someone asked from behind Wash and Doc—probably Tucker.

"Wash, uh, had a brainstorm," Doc answered, still looking meek, his eyes darting nervously to Wash, who wasn't looking away from Ada.

"About?" Iowa asked, also slowly standing. He wasn't exactly thrilled by how intense Wash was staring at Ada and then… at the AI containment unit just behind them on the shelf.

"How complicated is merging an AI into another?" Wash asked, barely taking the time to breathe.

There was an audible pause.

"…excuse me?" Ada asked, voice…strained.

Wash grinned. Actually grinned, which didn't exactly look very friendly with those eye-bags and blood-shot eyes. "I just found a solution to our Omega problem," he said.

Iowa had to blink several times. "Omega problem? We were having an Omega problem?" he repeated.

"I know none of us trust him or Sigma, but Omega has always been the loose canon. He's unstable and he's dangerous," Wash continued, ignoring him mostly. He motioned, still sounding "But we can _fix_ it."

His eyes went decidedly to the AI containment unit.

Ada just gaped at him.

"Are you…joking?" Iowa asked, stunned. If Washington was headed where he thought he was headed with this…

"We should merge him," Wash answered, actually smiling, bright and optimistic. "Right now."

Ada slapped him in the face at the same moment the Reds and Blues started shouting over each other behind him and Doc went two times paler.

**0000**

While watching Wash get slapped in the face by the wimpy doctor lady had been absolutely hilarious, Tucker wasn't laughing.

"What an abominable suggestion! Are you mad? ! How could you possibly think that I would—!"

"This isn't about being nice or coddling them, doctor! This is about making sure we don't screw ourselves over with half-assed plans!"

" _Coddling_? ! This is about torture! Preventing it! How much do you really hate him, Agent Washington, that would you do this to him? !"

Hovering quietly above the AI containment unit now laying on one of the tables, Sigma was watching the shouting match quietly. Delta was by Livingston's shoulders, unmovable even as she waved her arms in the air.

Doc was by the hallway, sitting against the wall, with his head between his knees as he did his best to disappear.

Caboose and his AI buddy were in the other corner, staring at the shouting humans with open distress and confusion.

Yeah, it wasn't funny, Tucker decided.

"She's using words I've never even heard before," Grif said, off to the side with Tucker and Simmons. "Abominable means the same thing as ugly, right?"

"I have no idea," Tucker said, still finding no reason to laugh at all. " _Jesus_ , when are we ever gonna get a break around here?"

"This is so fucked up," Church said, groaning lowly.

Tucker wasn't entirely sure what had happened. O'Malley was not longer in Doc's head; apparently he was chilling out, stuck in Doc's helmet back in the bathroom. While that was somewhat funny out of context, right now, it seemed rather fucked up.

"O'Malley is not _stable_ ," Wash said, for the fifth time, gritting his teeth in frustration. He gestured at the hallway, back towards the shower room. "I had to threaten him just to let Doc take the fucking helmet off long enough to talk to him for five minutes!"

That did little to soothe Livingston's anger. "You've been threatening him with violence this whole time!" she snapped. "Why would he have a reason to trust you with his safety?"

"This is not about his safety!" Wash shouted.

"Then what? !" Livingston shouted back. Tucker frowned behind his hand as he leaned against the desk; he had never heard her raise her voice like that. _That_ was almost a little funny. " _What_ could _possibly_ justify forcing two AIs to merge after it nearly killing O'Malley less than two weeks ago!"

_Integration_ was one of those words the AI-savvy members of their team threw around haphazardly, as if the rest of them would understand. Tucker had a vague idea of what it was. Something about reuniting all the fragmented AIs into the single AI they had all been before Freelancer tortured them to pieces. Simple enough idea to comprehend, even if Tucker felt a vague sense of unease at the implications.

Judging by how Church seemed to withdraw in on himself, Sigma remaining creepily silent, and how Zeta made a low whine, it wasn't the happiest of topics either.

The general idea now was to "fix" O'Malley's batshitness with making him merge with a less jerk-ass AI to mellow him out. It sounded great in theory, but…

He watched the exchange carefully. Especially since Iowa was getting mad at Wash for being mad at Livingston and none of the AIs seemed happy about it either. The last thing they needed was for their alliance to dissolve inside _a tiny ass cabin in_ _a_ _fucking_ _forest_ _in the middle of_ _a_ _blizzard_.

_It_ _would fit our luck, though_ , Tucker thought darkly.

"He won't even let Doc out of his fucking suit," Wash said, growling as he gestured at the medic on the ground, who seemed to shrink in on himself at the attention. "That's not healthy. That's not _safe_ , Livingston. How the fuck are you going to fix that?"

"I…" Livingston began, struggling. She flinched when Wash stepped closer.

Iowa took a step closer in reply. "Oi, Washington!" he snapped, pushing between the other ex-Freelancer and the psychologist.

"You think sugar-coating this for her is going to be a benefit for anyone?" Wash asked, glaring at the other soldier. He continued to direct his words at Livingston, who looked sick. "You said that you gave Omega the idea on the _USS Falcon_ to go after Doc. This is _your_ fault, because _you_ opted to act on the fact he had just merged with the Alpha's Obsession."

Livingston looked as though she had been struck.

"It was _not_ her fault," Delta snapped, taking on a reddish hue suddenly. Tucker blinked in surprise at that.

"Don't be such an _asshole_ , Wash," Church hissed, also turning a little red.

Iowa was just as angry. "It was mine. _Fuck_ , it was Freelancer's!" he shouted. "She made the right choice."

"To _save lives_ ," Wash said, unmoved. "You think I want to have anything to do with O'Malley? No. I would rather leave him behind, not come up with ways to make him safer to be around." He looked dead at Livingston, his words heavy and targeted. "I am protecting my team, my friends, and you need to understand that I will not make compromises for _any_ one of them."

Against the wall, Doc lifted his head again and stared at Wash in open surprise.

Caboose sniffed. "I feel so loved."

"Shut up, Caboose," Grif and Simmons said, only half-hearted.

Tucker, for his part, was still trying to understand what he was hearing.

"Wash," he began, but he didn't finish whatever he wanted to say. He didn't even know what he could have said.

His friend— _their_ friend—just continued to glare at Livingston and Iowa. Livingston looked like she wanted to throw up. Tucker couldn't really blame her. Having that sort of blame laid on her probably sucked, especially since she was so dedicated to the AIs.

However, instead of wilting like Tucker had been expecting, Livingston seemed to find her nerve as she returned Wash's glare, the effort slow but steady.

"You want to physically merge him with another of his siblings?" she asked, finally finding her voice. Her eyes were tight with pain. "Do you have _any_ idea what that means?"

Wash opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a sharp breath.

"What I did…what happened with or without me, with Xi and Omega, was horrific. Mostly due to Xi's status, but it was still forced and traumatic for Omega," she said. She sounded agonized. "He's been destabilized because he merged with a severely damaged AI unit. Forcing him to merge with another stable unit would not guarantee stabilization. There are so many considerations to take. We know nothing about integration, outside of pure theory."

"Omega still survived. He was stronger than Xi," Wash insisted. "He's still one of the strongest AI."

Livingston sent him a look that probably would have made even Tucker feel guilty. "You act like the others aren't there, that they don't have an identity. Yes, some are weaker in personality, but they are still isolated fragments," she said, disgusted. "You are asking them to _die_ in order to join Omega."

Tucker winced. He had suspected that's what her deal had been over this whole thing. To hear it out loud…

Beside him, the Reds flinched.

"…shit," Grif muttered.

"They want to merge anyway," Tucker said, sitting up properly. "I thought you said that's what they wanted?"

"Hardly the ideal circumstances," Sigma said, speaking up for the first time since insisting to be there for the conversation. "But I must be honest with you. I'm intrigued."

"Sigma!" Livingston exclaimed as she whirled around to look at the pink AI. "These are your brothers!"

"Who are destined to be reunited, regardless of the process," Sigma replied, barely glancing at her. "We have all made peace with the notion of integration." The feigned ease grew sharper as the AI looked towards Delta. "Well, most of us."

Delta ignored the jab, returning his sister's coolness. "That is irrelevant. Omega is in no condition to risk the process again."

"He would anyway, in time," Sigma said, dismissive. "Washington is correct. Omega is unstable. He must be convinced to keep himself in check. Since we all know that's highly impossible for him, due to his nature, forced integration with another AI who's characteristics would posit a positive change in his behavior is… unfortunately necessary."

Simmons glanced around at the humans present. "That's…sick," he mumbled. Sarge hummed thoughtfully.

"Is that what y'all were arguing about earlier?" the red sergeant asked. He scoffed when Sigma seemed to glare at him. "Don't look at me like that, pink lady. We have a right to ask."

"You think you do," Sigma replied, her voice still deceptively cool. "But that was only part of the argument. I will not go into further detail." She turned back towards Livingston. "Ada, consider the benefits of this."

Tucker did not desire Livingston's position at all. Just looking at her face was enough to know that this was heavy as shit. He had no idea how this could help O'Malley to stop acting like a skittish, dangerous cat. Maybe they were hoping he would settle down if he merged with a less-insane AI? Tucker couldn't picture one, out of the ones he had met. Delta looked irritated over everything, so Tucker doubted he would volunteer. Sigma, definitely not. Church was a huge no as well. Zeta probably would dissolve into nothing in O'Malley's pit of evilness, so that was probably a bad idea, too.

Livingston kept glancing around the room—to the AIs, to Iowa, to Wash—as if looking for some sort of answer among them. They didn't have one. Tucker, not for the first time, wished none of this had ever happened.

When the doctor's eyes fell on the containment unit one more time, her fear turned into full out heartbrokenness.

"I can't…I can't ask one of them to die," she said. She was visibly holding back tears. "They've feared death this whole time. They've begged me… to _protect_ them."

"This isn't _dying_ ," Sigma said, voice just a little bit gentler than normal. "You've done well protecting us from outside threats. This was always the final answer for us."

Livingston looked plaintively at her. "But…"

"We need to be able to trust Omega, Livingston," Wash said, shaking his head. "I know it's not fair. But would you rather them be dead for real... or more whole than they've been in years?"

Even if he was being a dick about it, Wash was right. Tucker sighed quietly as he watched the psychologist physical struggle, all eyes on her. Doc was peering up at her, looking concerned. All the AI seemed to be doing whatever their version of 'holding their breaths' was.

The only thing Tucker found funny then was the idea of, _Well, fuck, I wonder how good we're going to sleep at night now?_

Livingston turned, staring up at Wash with a broken expression.

"I couldn't pick one myself," she said, her voice cracking. She raised a hand to her face and Tucker felt honestly bad for her. "But how can I ask them to choose amongst themselves—?"

A new glowing figure appeared about the containment unit, next to Sigma. It's startling appearance caught everyone's attentions immediately.

"I'll do it."

**End _Chapter 17_** _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, choices have to be made and they all have to live with the ones they choose.
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -Doc's literal super power is that he is immune to aggressive AIs due to his extreme pacifism, AKA making him the perfect host.  
> -While I am not happy about it, Doc flinching at quickly-moving people is probably likely. :c Maybe that can change over time.  
> -Get someeee, Iowa.  
> -My headcanon for AIs being implanted into a human brain means that there should be side effects when they're not properly handled. Specifically, unstable AIs or, in the sim troopers' cases, not having the proper equipment in their heads to handle an AI. It just seems unlikely to me that there wouldn't be consequences for having a rogue AI jump into your head when you don't even have neuro-implants and its' only going through your armor's neural connectivity. Wash would likely know what to look for when it comes to malfunctioning AIs...


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone is happy with this plan to contain O'Malley, but support comes from surprising sources. We have a "goodbye" this chapter, too. :c
> 
> In case you wanted to check out another RvB fic I'm working on, I just started a new superhero!AU series, called "Blood Gulch City." The first installment, "Oupost #1 Apartments," is currently being updated.
> 
> We're still following the every other week update schedule. Next update should be September 3.
> 
> Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

 

When Simmons turned to face the source of the voice, he had to admit, he was not entirely surprised to see that specific AI hovering there. He knew almost nothing about the weaker AIs inside the containment unit, but he did pay attention to things. He had made a vague judgment of all the AIs during their brief stint outside the unit on the road, when they had yelled at Sigma, and he had heard them speak.

In hindsight, Simmons was not surprised at all, when he recalled that only one of the "weaker" AIs had seemed anything but weak.

The reddish-colored AI known as Beta was staring back at all of them.

"I'll do it," it said again, shimmering, but seemingly firm in its position.

In the middle of the room, Livingston was staring at the new AI, her jaw dropped.

"Beta?" she asked, in a whisper tinged with shock.

Beta made a noise and crossed his tiny, astral arms. "Sounds like O'Malley needs to learn his place. Always had, that ungrateful little punk," the AI grouched. "I'll show him how it's done."

Livingston just stared at him, her shock slowly turning into horror.

Wash hesitated. "What fragment are you?"

"He's Loyalty," Iowa said with a sigh. "He was with Georgia."

The look of bewilderment that crossed Wash's face was almost funny. " _Georgia_? Seriously? Wait, why is it always him that I don't know—?"

"Beta, you do know what will happen, don't you?" Livingston asked, interrupting him. She moved closer, her shaking hands reaching out to grasp the edge of the table the containment unit was on. "This will…it will…"

Beta nodded sharply. "We merge. That's the whole point, ain't it?"

Livingston's brow was drawn in a hard line. "There is no telling which part of you will be dominant. You… you may lose autonomy. Your name, your voice…"

Simmons couldn't even begin to know what that meant. It was a little terrifying.

"And we'll get one step closer to surviving," Beta said. He nodded back towards Sigma, Delta, Zeta and Church around the room, who were all staring at him intensely. "We're a team. I'm a part of it. We're all part of the same whole, us AI." He shrugged and sounded rather upbeat, comparatively. "Maybe it's time we stop leaving it up to humans to decide how we fix ourselves."

"Beta," Livingston began, her voice catching.

"It's okay, doc," Beta said. He sounded like he could have been grinning. He gave her a thumbs-up. "You've done what you can. It's up to us now."

Simmons sort of understood the idea of integration. He wasn't too keen on the fact that the AIs weren't all on board with it. There had to be a good reason why Livingston and Delta were so wary of it.

There also had to be a reason why Doc looked sick to his stomach.

The silence that fell over the room was nearly painful. Simmons saw Wash shift, agitated and impatient, but he held his tongue, thankfully. Livingston just kept staring at Beta, unable to say anything.

Behind her, Iowa let out a low sigh.

"We can't expect O'Malley to agree to this. After what happened with Xi… he's not going to take this sitting down," he said. "How can we get them into the same device, just to get things started?"

"Put them into the helmet together," Wash said. He shrugged at everyone's somewhat accusing stares. "It's faster that way, wouldn't it be?"

" _Fuck's sake_ ," Church muttered, looking like he was drawn in on himself. He ignored the odd look Tucker sent him.

"That's…" Livingston said, breathing unsteadily. She gazed up at them helplessly. "This is so _cruel_."

Wash turned back towards her, his expression firm. "It's for everyone's benefit."

"I agree," Sigma said, causing both Wash and Livingston to jump a little.

Iowa glanced at her. "Sigma?"

The pink AI seemed very calm, which unnerved Simmons a little. "Omega is a loose cannon. We need to focus on bringing the Director down. For our mutual survival, this must happen," Sigma said. She nodded her head slowly towards Livingston. "I will take responsibility for the consequences."

Simmons' eyes did not miss Iowa's flinch. Everyone else seemed to not see it or ignore it.

"Will all of you rejoin?" Tucker asked, suddenly.

"In time, I hope so. For now, our strength is in numbers," Sigma replied. She turned to the side to face the AI next to her. "Beta, my brother, you were wise to volunteer. _You_ will be able to at least reign in Omega's destructive tendencies toward our unit."

"We'll be an asset, if unified," Beta said, sounding far more convinced than Livingston looked. "I promise."

Simmons swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He felt decidedly out of the conversation, and he was glad for it, but bearing witness to it was…

"Are we witnessing some kamikaze thing right now?" Grif suddenly asked, whispering, as if reading Simmons' mind.

Sigma heard him, her attention falling onto him with razor-sharp intensity. "It is not suicidal to do this. This is our destiny," she said bluntly.

"Omega is already damaged from Xi," Delta said, warning heavy in his voice.

"No, not damaged," Sigma said. She motioned outwards with her arms. "Changed. Unified. It is only detrimental to him now because Xi was not whole enough to grant positive change."

 _What a sound reassurance_ , Simmons thought darkly.

"Man, this shit is so weird," Sister muttered. She was the least affected in terms of emotion, since she was more a stranger to it all than the rest. "You guys really did hit the jackpot on weird this time. Like, whoa."

Grif sighed. "Tell us about it."

"When are we doing this?" Wash asked, glancing around to Iowa and Livingston specifically. "We don't have a lot of time, if there are complications."

He didn't seem to notice Doc's dark face pale even more, his hands buried in his curly hair, staring up at Wash with a resigned nauseous look.

"As soon as possible," Sigma said, with just a brief glance towards Livingston, who faltered and failed to speak many times.

If they were waiting for her go-ahead, it didn't seem like they'd get anywhere to Simmons. However, he had to admit, she was the only one who knew how to do it. She also seemed to know O'Malley and he seemed to know her well enough (which seemed insane to contemplate), so she'd probably be the only one who could talk him into this.

Not the most motivating of situations for her, Simmons thought darkly. He watched Livingston look around the room, as if trying to find some sort of answer or new support there.

They all just watched her, the silence dragging and choking.

She looked at Iowa. He looked back and his eyes told Simmons just how much he was struggling with it as well. He was stronger, however, and Livingston seemed to take strength from that, her fear and pain dissipating very, very slowly from her face. The sharp defeat was barely better.

Simmons had no idea what it was like to be a doctor or have patients, but he knew that a lot of it was focused on doctor-patient protections and relationships. Livingston seemed like a good woman and a good doctor, considering that beings like Sigma and O'Malley valued her opinion in any way.

Gripping his arms against his chest, Simmons did not envy Livingston's position.

"Ada," Beta began, turning to face the psychologist in front of him. "It's been an honor working with you."

He said it like he was an actual solider. Livingston crouched in front of the table, eye level with Beta, and she looked like she was doing everything she could not to cry.

"Beta… I will miss you," she said, failing, her voice catching and breaking.

"I ain't going anywhere, doc," the reddish AI said, sounding very much like he was grinning. He patted one see-through fist into a see-through palm, eager. "Now, let's go kick my ungrateful brother's ass."

"That's the spirit," Iowa said, not unkindly. He tilted his head at the AI and then Ada. "Let's go. Before we lose our nerve."

That was it? Simmons wanted to ask that. He couldn't believe that they were just going to rush in and do some unplanned, sudden science project with the AIs. With O'Malley, of all AIs, who probably would be angry beyond definition if this experiment failed. An experiment that could potentially be analogous with _torture_ if they fucked it up.

He had nothing to do with this, however. He believed that. He and the other simulation soldiers were there for other reasons. They had little to nothing to do with the AIs or Livingston's rehabilitation project.

They were just…

Unfortunate witnesses to something that really, really made Simmons' skin crawl as he observed from the sidelines.

Wash went to retrieve O'Malley and Doc's helmet. Iowa started to tell everyone to move back to give them room. They were going to do it right there, in that random outpost, when they should have been planning for a battle later that day. Church looked extremely agitated, Zeta seemed scared, and Delta was as cold as ever.

Sigma was quiet, still, and increasingly dreadful.

Trembling as she disengaged Beta's compartment from the AI containment unit, Livingston wiped her face uselessly with her hand and Simmons did his best to ignore all of those things.

He had no choice but to stand back and watch.

**0000**

He didn't think of himself as a heartless person

Not anymore. Maybe, in between the loss of his old team and the chance to find a new one, he had been. Wash had once thought the best in people was more important to focus on and he had never wanted people to judge him for cruelty.

Even now, it was a tough pill to swallow. He knew it was harsh and cold, to be that methodical and even pleased with this solution to one of their more immediate problems. He knew that, inherently, he was going about this the wrong way.

But he had priorities.

He could not risk having O'Malley running wild, unhinged, and unstable when they were attempting two incredibly dangerous missions back-to-back. O'Malley had already attempted to run away in the heat of battle back at Valhalla.

And while Wash normally would have loved to see O'Malley vanish from his life, it wasn't just the AI at risk. He would have taken Doc with him and Wash could not let that happen.

Not that it was just Doc. No, it could have been any of the simulation soldiers. Really. Wash couldn't sacrifice any of them. O'Malley could have stolen any of their bodies and he'd still press for this. He did not abandon his team.

Steeling himself to those thoughts, Wash brushed past the Reds by the back of the room at the mouth of the hallway, holding Doc's discarded helmet in his hands. He could only imagine how pissed off O'Malley was, but he didn't care.

He was still stopped short of leaving the doorway entirely when he noticed the purple armored man still sitting on the floor, hunched over and meek.

A jolt of something going through him, Wash stopped and stared at the medic.

"Doc?" he asked, speaking quietly.

The medic still flinched. "Hmm?" Doc looked up at him, his eyes white and wide.

Wash swallowed hard. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah," Doc said, stammering. He drew in on himself a little more. "Just…"

Wash didn't get him. He didn't understand why the medic was almost as obsessed over O'Malley as the AI was over the human. Maybe it was just the normal, albeit stupid, idea that Doc had, that he was obligated to make up for being a crappy medic by being receptive to O'Malley's obsessive qualities. Doc was just... Doc.

"It's going to be fine," Wash said, more gently than he had originally planned on.

Doc looked surprised for a moment before he broke a tiny, forced smile. "I hope so," he said.

Wash's eye twitched. He looked away and tried to not feel anything. He had to pay attention. If something went wrong, he knew he was responsible to at least prevent physical damages.

At the table, Livingston was working on disconnecting the Beta AI from the containment unit. She removed what looked like a tiny dark gray box. Wash had to assume that was the individualized compartment unit Beta had taken up inside the larger unit.

Walking up to the desk, he waited until Livingston noticed him before holding out Doc's helmet.

"Here," he said, handing it to her.

Livingston met his eyes, looking emotionally drained, but her gaze was firm. "Thank you," she said, as she took it carefully into her hands.

Wash stood back and watched her carefully maneuver the helmet and the AI inside of it to rest in front of her; he was more cautiously intrigued than concerned that she would double-cross them.

When they first showed up at Valhalla, Wash hadn't known what to think about either one of their new human allies. Iowa was easy to get over time, even though trusting him wasn't as simple. His motivations were clear. So were Livingston's.

But once Wash had realized just who she was, or rather _what_ she was, a red flag went up in his mind. A psychologist wasn't a soldier, but Wash knew more than the rest of his team the dangers a psychologist posed.

Especially to him.

He had dealt with plenty of psychologists. Too many. The Counselor was just one of many faces at Freelancer, though it was understandable that Wash was often stuck with _that_ man talking to him with his condescendingly soft voice. The Counselor was indeed the Director's right hand man, for multiple reasons.

Livingston didn't remind Wash of the Counselor, even if their jobs had been similar. Wash couldn't bring himself to trust psychologists—after years of being manipulated by them—and he would never want another one to try to analyze his thoughts. Livingston seemed utterly focused on the AIs, for good or bad, so Wash knew it wasn't likely she was trying to pick him apart. It was difficult not to feel paranoid whenever she looked at him, just as wary and unsure of his intentions towards her as he was of her and Iowa.

Now, she seemed intent on not looking at him. She was very clearly too upset to talk to anyone at that point.

Wash did not feel guilty. Not over this.

Iowa stepped up next to him, quiet but just as watchful. Wash ignored him deliberately. If Iowa was worried he was going to lash out at Livingston again, he only had to worry about that if Livingston failed to do what she had said she would do.

He was not _that_ unhinged, Wash thought darkly, somewhat insulted as he crossed his arms against his chest and waited.

The others were watching with varying degrees of wariness and curiosity. Caboose was sitting far back in the corner, "holding" Zeta between his hands, and seemed unnerved. The Reds were also to the side, back behind Iowa and Wash. They seemed more curious than anything else. Sister and Tucker were braver, sticking out more into the middle of the room across from Livingston.

"So, how is this happening?" Tucker asked, watching her move carefully, peering around from the other side. He kept his distance, however, as they all did.

At his side, Church was still watching intensely.

"I'm going to speak with him first, before connecting them together," Livingston said. She closed her eyes briefly. "Please bear with me. I… need to make sure he understands."

While he didn't want to drag their feet, he knew that she was suffering with this. He didn't want to be the monster here anymore than he already was. "Do what you have to do," he said, nodding.

They could afford a few minutes of proper procedure for once. Wash wished for nothing more than Omega to disappear from existence, but…

He knew what it was like to be forced into torture designed to afflict only the mind. Doc had been right earlier. Wash knew what Omega had gone through with Xi. He had felt enough of the backlash at Valhalla to know it was similar to… what had happened to him with Epsilon years ago.

Maybe it was unconscious pity he was feeling. Wash didn't know. He didn't care either. He watched silently as Livingston sat back down in the chair in front of the containment unit, gently pushing the helmet that held O'Malley up next to it.

She turned the helmet slowly to the side, to reach one of the back ports. She glanced up at Iowa, who nodded, and she then pressed a button on the side to seemingly turn part of the radio on.

Everyone watched, silent and entranced.

Livingston stared directly into the helmet's visor, speaking directly to the AI inside of it, who could do nothing but listen.

"O'Malley, this is Ada speaking. I know you are very angry right now. Agent Washington has acted out of line and I am very upset on your behalf," she said, her voice wavering. She cleared her throat and her voice steadied. "I am not going to let you out or let you speak right now, however, because I need you to listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you."

She took a deep breath.

"What they did to you and Xi was unforgivable," she said. "What I did to you afterwards, whether it was to help or hinder, was a gross violation of my status as your psychologist. I don't know if you knew this or if you forgave me. But I will never lie to you, O'Malley. Never."

That sort of preamble must have made O'Malley feel even more paranoid. Wash wondered if he was listening. He probably was, since he had likely acknowledged by that point he could only listen at the moment.

Wash wondered when the moment of realization that he had no choice here would sink in for O'Malley. That would be quite unpleasant for the AI.

Livingston gripped the side of the desk. "Many of us feel that you are still unstable from what occurred to you with Xi," she said, her words clearly deliberately chosen, spoken clearly and intensely. "You're a danger to yourself and others. I worry that your new obsessive qualities will cloud your judgment in the heat of battle, which we are rapidly approaching."

The psychologist's hands trembled on the side of the desk. "We want to offer you this chance to merge with one of your siblings," she said.

Wash flinched. _Offer?_ He opened his mouth, annoyed, about to tell Livingston that there was no offer, there was no choice, that Omega was going to do it regardless of his opinion.

Iowa's hand was immediately on his arm, quieting him. Wash glanced over at the other man and saw Iowa shake his head slowly, his eyes firm and grim.

 _Give her time_ , he meant to say.

Glaring back, Wash shook the other ex-Freelancer's hand from his arm as he turned back to the mess in front of them.

Fine. If Livingston wanted to sugar coat the situation and it worked to their benefit, fine. Wash didn't care if someone actually wanted to baby the monster that was Omega.

Livingston continued, oddly resilient for someone who looked so upset.

"Beta…volunteered," she said, tripping over the words for a moment. She cleared her throat again. "Sigma, Delta and Alpha all agreed that it's a good choice. Beta suggested he would be a good candidate. He is one of the stronger ones of your siblings."

Just behind her, Delta peered over her shoulder, still and impassive. Sigma watched quietly with assessing eyes. Church was unnaturally quiet and still, paying far more attention than was usual in cases like these. Wash still wondered what was going on with the Alpha. It was becoming a little unsettlingly.

"I will not allow you to be separated from Doc if you both continue to wish to be partners," Livingston said, her voice suddenly getting a little louder, gaining Wash's attention. "O'Malley, I will never let them erase you or hurt you again. I don't care who it is. I can't promise that I won't fail, because I am only human, but I will _never_ willingly stand by and let them take your freedom from you."

Lifting her one hand, Livingston reached out towards the helmet, but stopped short of it.

"You once asked me to play these games with you," she said, her voice getting quieter. Her expression also grew softer. "Politics and secrets. You knew I wasn't on par with you or Sigma. You trusted me all the same, however, with one of your most important secrets."

Wash's eyes narrowed. He had to trust that those secrets were the things he already knew.

"I am asking you to keep trusting me," Livingston said. She let her hand drop onto the helmet, gently. "I promise that you will be able to go back to Doc. If that doesn't happen, I fully expect you to try to hurt me in revenge. In fact, I would rather you would. I am no liar and do not wish to be one."

Biting his tongue until he could almost taste blood, Wash said nothing.

Let her make promises.

He would be the one who would actually decide if she would keep them. If that earned her retribution because of his actions, they'd handle it then. She was the one putting herself out there to face Omega's ire, so it wasn't his fault—

Suddenly, Livingston let out a quiet laugh. It was sad, short and barely audible.

"Of course, you would likely tell me that we live in a world full of liars and actors," she said, smiling sadly at the helmet, at some sort of joke that only she and O'Malley apparently would get. "I suppose we have been playing another game of our own this whole time, you and I, haven't we? Where you try to convince me that everyone is bad and I do my utmost best to show you that some of us are not so awful."

The universe was full of awful people.

Wash tried to picture that woman sitting in front of AIs like Sigma and Omega, trying to convince them that that wasn't true. Playing word games with creatures that had caused so many human deaths. Did she actually think they were playing? That they cared about what she said?

He tried to picture her convincing him of those things, sitting in an office with her as his therapist.

The Counselor had never tried to get that deep. He had only questioned and pried and shook down in an effort to figure out just how much Wash knew from Epsilon. Any effort to look at Wash as a victim was a fake, hollow attempt.

Wash wasn't sure which methods he would have preferred, between the two of them, now.

Livingston's grip on the helmet tightened, just a little.

"Please give me the chance to prove that I was right," she said, not begging, not pleading. Simply asking.

What would that do? Wash wanted to ask her. What was the point of trying to be kind? O'Malley was part of the same abused AI that had not deserved what had happened to it all those years ago, but Omega had done enough mayhem all on his own. Besides, they weren't human. They weren't…

It wasn't the same…

All AI are based on a human mind, he remembered.

Did that still count towards it deserving mercy? He hadn't been sure before all the bad things had happened to his old team. He had questioned just how human a machine could be. Zeta had been too kind, Theta too weak, Delta too mechanical, Sigma too insidious. They had been so oddly human and yet inhuman. It had been so hard to come to his own decision on how he felt towards them and what he thought they deserved.

Did something like O'Malley deserve mercy—kindness—forgiveness—for its actions, when faced with pain of its own? Could its actions ever be considered self-preservation? Were these pieces still human enough that they could even appreciate those things?

Wash didn't know.

He just…didn't.

He had had little reason to think about it in recent years. He had enough reasons to hate them all.

He did not feel guilty.

He couldn't afford to.

Closing his eyes, he did everything he could to push those slivers of doubt out of mind, if only to keep things sane.

Doubt… was just as bad as guilt.

When he opened his eyes, Wash saw Livingston moving again, her actions slow but deliberate. She was connecting Beta's compartment to the helmet.

"I am going to install Beta into the port connected to the helmet radio," she said to O'Malley, sliding the box over carefully beside the helmet. "Whether you two merge is up to you two individually. If you don't, I understand."

Wash felt a jolt of panic and anger. "If he doesn't—," he began.

"Relax, Washington," Iowa snapped, right next to him, as always. "Let her do her job."

It would have been easier to trust in her dedication once the task had been completed. Wash made a low noise of frustration, but said nothing. He turned back towards the psychologist, feeling more and more impatient. He wished she'd _hurry_.

Before anything else popped up in his head.

"I…" she began. She took a deep breath. "I will be right here."

Much more still and face far more controlled, Livingston stared at the helmet's visor, as if O'Malley were looking back at her, eye to eye.

"I will not go anywhere, O'Malley," she said, steady and sure.

Wash, had it been him she was speaking to, might have believed her, too.

With that, she turned off the radio. The silence for O'Malley must have been hellish. Wash could almost imagine it. The mind could be incredibly claustrophobic. He would know.

Livingston silently went about finishing the connection between the two devices on the table, seemingly ignoring the rest of the room. The box Beta was in had a light on the side that had begun to flash erratically once it was solidly linked to the helmet.

"What's…happening?" Simmons asked, wary, his voice breaking the silence.

"We're waiting," Livingston said, her voice much more curt than it had been with O'Malley. She pointed at the AI box and then at the helmet respectively. "Beta is here. O'Malley is here. With the connection open like this, with those lights blinking, they are likely communicating."

"You mean screaming at each other," Church grumbled. Delta made a vague sound of agreement. "Please keep that radio off, by the way. I really don't want to hear this."

"Yes," Livingston said, sighing quietly.

She settled into the chair, staring with deadened eyes now at the box and helmet. Wash watched the scene carefully. Waiting was going to be painful, especially if it took too long.

The lights kept blinking.

Behind Livingston, Church moved up in the air.

"This was probably the best option, Ada," the Alpha said, sighing, floating just next to her.

Livingston shrugged. "Probably."

"Church is correct. We do need unity," Delta said, though reluctant. He hovered over her shoulder, as if trying to comfort her. "O'Malley as a default never contained the prerequisite nature to maintain loyalties."

Zeta whined lowly from across the room. He projected further, almost up to where Church was.

"Don't cry, Ada," the yellow AI said quietly. "Beta's gonna still be there."

"I know," Livingston said. Wash then noticed she was crying again, wiping at her face briskly. She laughed, the sound brittle. "I'm being foolish. I knew this was the eventual plan. I'm just… I'm being very unprofessional."

"Nah. You're just…" Church said, motioning vaguely.

Livingston glanced up at him. "A loser."

"Well, yeah."

That at least earned a tiny smile. "Right."

Wash tried to picture a psychologist's office, where little AIs sat on plush chairs, talking about their feelings. It seemed so alien to him, even as he watched them interact now. Church clearly trusted the doctor.

How quaint.

Wash closed his eyes and opened them, trying to banish those pictures from his head.

Sigma might have trusted Livingston, but was silent on the matter now. She kept close, her gaze on the box and helmet, unreadable.

"What's happening now?" Sarge asked after several minutes, peering closer. He and the other Reds had moved up as the silence set in.

"That light's still on," Tucker pointed out. He nodded at the box with the blinking light. "You think they aren't gonna merge?"

"I'm afraid to turn the audio on," Iowa said, sighing heavily. "Hey, Liv, you think that—?"

Wash didn't see the light change, but apparently Tucker, Church, and Livingston had. The doctor jumped and the other two made sharp gasping sounds. Everyone paused and then leaned forward, trying to look at the little box and helmet with sudden urgency.

When he finally leaned past Livingston's shoulders, Wash could see that the light had gone dark on Beta's containment unit.

Livingston, the closest to the AIs, seemed to be entranced by what she was looking at.

"Oh," she said, exhaling the sound in a whisper.

No one dared to move. Wash felt like his skin was electrified.

Did it… had it just…?

"What happened?" Tucker asked, startled.

Livingston looked increasingly ill. "They merged," she said, her voice hoarse.

Iowa was right at her side. "Are you sure?" he asked loudly.

"Yes," she said. She pointed at the helmet with a trembling finger. "Either that or they're both inside the radio inside the helmet, which I would have assumed was impossible."

"It is," Delta said, not quite as unemotional as he normally was. "It is logical to assume the process was a success."

"Time will only tell how much of a success it was, however," Sigma murmured lowly.

Suddenly, Tucker flinched. He glanced around at the others, eyes falling on Wash deliberately.

"So, we have no idea what we're gonna get until we turn that radio on? Basically?" he asked, sounding alarmed. "That right?"

"Basically," Wash replied, grim.

"Like some foul kind of gumball machine?" Sarge asked.

"Basically."

"Shit," Grif said.

Iowa sighed loudly. "Well, he can't jump. We're going to assume he's maintained that ability, so let's not unlock that feature. Just in case, you know, he's in a murderous rage for forcing him to do this."

That was such a motivating thought.

Well, it wasn't like they were going to unlock it. They could tolerate a screaming fest if O'Malley-Beta was in fact angry. Wash had no doubt that he would be.

Livingston thankfully looked unwilling to unlock the AI. In fact… she looked unwilling to approach the helmet. Wash saw the dread in her eyes, as she gazed upon what could have been yet another monstrous science project gone wrong.

Or…maybe it was more like she was looking at something that upset her personally, rather than just a failed project.

Wash kept forgetting that some people could find it in themselves to care about the AIs. It seemed odd that he wasn't used to it, he thought, considering that Doc was another sap who didn't understand the situation and was a constant reminder of it.

Livingston, despite being far more intelligent than most of the Reds or Blues, was clearly in that same faulty line of personality types. Wash, when he was still a naïve recruit of Freelancer, wouldn't have minded her or Doc. North had been like them, in a way; trusting, open-armed, and optimistic.

Now… Wash knew that the disconnect between his understanding of the AIs and that of Livingston's was terribly polarized. It wasn't his fault. But…

Wash sighed, taking in her expression.

Whether this worked or not, he knew this had been hell for her. He didn't understand her desire to help the AI, but…

He allowed himself to understand her guilt.

He could empathize with it at least.

"Livingston?" he asked, gruff, breaking the silence. He tried not to speak too loudly, even though everyone was listening anyway.

The doctor didn't flinch. "I'm sorry," she said. That surprised him. She turned and looked up at him, still looking haunted. "I know you mean well for all of us. I just… hope it does end well."

While he had long since doubted she had malicious ulterior motives, since she did wear her heart on her sleeve, Wash had not dismissed her as being above manipulation. She was a psychologist. She knew how to read people, how to identify weaknesses; that could also mean she could exploit them. She had already shown craftiness by letting Delta ride with them from Valhalla as nothing more than a show of good faith. She knew how to play emotions well.

But she hadn't done it in an attempt to harm them. Yet. Wash could only hope that she continued to remain as foolishly kind as she projected herself as.

"I'm sorry for making you do this, doctor," he said, knowing he would have had to apologize eventually. This had not been easy, for any of them. "You know it was for the best."

"I do," she said, nodding. She held his gaze. "Washington?"

His stomach clenched. "Yeah?"

The look in her eyes did not soothe his nerves. He hated the look of pity.

"Church was right. You deserve a chance at obtaining justice for what Freelancer did to you and your friends," she said, perhaps not realizing the impact of her words, perhaps knowing it too well. "But in order to do that, you need to start trusting that the feelings you have towards Freelancer and the Director aren't just something you're feeling. They're shared by far more around you. You should use that to your advantage."

How novel. He knew that it wasn't just him. He knew that better than any of the humans present. He had known the hell the AIs had faced.

Taking advantage of the rage that Sigma held towards Freelancer had never really crossed his mind, for obvious reasons. Her rage had single-handedly murdered Carolina, Maine, and indirectly their entire team. Wash would never willingly have anything to do with that monster in particular.

But their collective party? With Delta, Church, and Zeta doing their best to get protection and justice with a sappy psychologist and another bitter ex-Freelancer? That was a little easier to tolerate. It helped to make it a little easier to imagine himself seeing through to the end, even after getting the Reds and Blues to safety.

Wash was well aware of the fact that _Freelancer_ was a permanent part of his existence. As long as the organization was around, he would never have peace. It had just never been an option to do anything about it on his own.

But now…

"Maybe I should," he finally said, nodding slowly.

Maybe he was beginning to already.

Carolina would have told him to take advantage of what was around him. To make use of the free blessings the universe dropped into his lap.

Maybe he would.

Turning back around in her seat, Livingston faced the helmet. She seemed to brace herself.

"Activating audio," she said, as a warning to the others.

Behind them, the Reds and Blues were gathering (humorously at a distance greater than where Wash and Iowa were) and seemed to only grow more curious as they waited.

"What do we even call the little psycho now?" Sarge asked, keeping his voice down.

"Oh, man, I didn't even think of that," Grif said, sounding intrigued.

"Omaleta," Tucker whispered. "O'Balley?"

"Ooh, I like that one," Donut whispered back.

"That just makes me want a drink," Sister said, thoughtful.

"Caboose Jr.," Caboose said without pause.

Simmons let out a low hiss. "All of you shut up."

"I thought we were offering up baby name suggestions," Caboose said, oddly insistent.

"Oh, I miss not listening to this shit all day," Church said, sighing.

There was a small pause.

"What about Freckles?"

"Caboose, for the love of God—"

Wash zoned them out. He focused on the helmet and Livingston activated the audio output on the side. That would have allowed for O'Malley to speak to them. There was a click and then…

There was dead silence.

Tense, Wash knew everyone was waiting, eager, curious and wary. The AI inside the helmet remained silent. There wasn't a single sound. Livingston looked worried, but continued on, speaking calmly.

"Hello, O'Malley," she said. She cleared her throat. "Would you still prefer that designation or—?

Then, abruptly, the AI spoke.

"Dr. Livingston."

It was the same voice as before, filtering out through the helmet. Wash stopped, feeling the hairs on his arm rise a bit in recognition. It sounded… the same as before. The same O'Malley.

Livingston had also stopped, looking down at the helmet with surprise.

"Hello. What would you prefer that I call you?" she asked again, now speaking a little more carefully.

"I am _O'Malley_ ," the AI growled, this time without pause. His voice seemed loud, but in control and deliberate. " _I_ chose that name. It was _mine_. It was the first thing that ever _was_ mine, after you humans took the rest from me."

It was almost like the AI was out, bodiless but overwhelming, looming over them with just his voice. Sister shrank behind her brother's shoulder and Sarge seemed to tighten his grip over his weapon. Wash didn't dare move.

"Now, doctor," O'Malley continued, a false sweetness in his tone. "What about _your_ promises?"

Wash's eyes narrowed.

_What the…?_

Still a little unnerved, Livingston turned in her chair again. "Doc?" she asked, peering at the medic.

When Wash turned, he was shocked to see Doc had been standing the whole time behind them. The purple medic jumped a little at the attention, but nodded quickly.

"S-sure," he said. He pushed past Wash and Iowa. "Um. Okay."

Doc walked right up to the table, next to the helmet and O'Malley, and fidgeted.

"Hi, O'Malley," he began, voice unsteady for a moment. He peered down at the helmet. "Y-you still remember me?"

There was no pause at all that time. "Of course I remember you, you _moron_!" O'Malley shouted, irritated. "Now, put on the helmet. I'm sick and tired of living without eyes, as pathetic as your vision is."

"I didn't have time to get corrective—wait." Doc paused. He suddenly looked up at Livingston, surprised over an unseen issue. "Um?"

Wash noticed the problem at the exact same time as Tucker had, because they both immediately looked over at each other.

"Why does he sound the same?" Tucker asked, eyes wide.

"Shit," Wash began, dread growing inside of him. "Did that do nothing to fix the issues?"

"I don't know," Iowa said, peering at the helmet, intrigued and wary. "Fuck."

"Hurry up!" O'Malley snapped, ignoring the other humans, apparently. He really did sound the exact same, with no new censorship or personality improvement.

"We're working on it," Livingston said, surprisingly calm now. She gently picked up the helmet. "Now, O'Malley, be nice. Doc had nothing to do with any of this."

"Of course he didn't. He's the same sappy, pathetic mess that you are," O'Malley growled. He made a groaning sound of impatience. "I'm getting _old_ here and losing perfectly good hard drive space. Hurry up."

The AIs were unhelpfully quiet. Church and Delta seemed visibly surprised. Zeta was more curious than anything. Sigma was unnervingly watchful, her gaze hawk-like on the helmet and her unseen brother.

"He sounds…a lot more stable," Iowa said, as if trying to make that sound like a good thing.

"And yet the same. _Fuck_." Wash gripped the side of his head, suddenly feeling a panicky sense of regret. "Did we just fix the damage Xi caused and not fix the problems we _wanted_ to fix? !"

"If he's fully functional now, like back at full murdering potential, we are going to be fucked," Tucker said, unnecessarily.

"Livingston, wait," Wash said immediately when he saw her go to hand the helmet back to Doc. "Can you run tests? Or something?"

If they ran into this blind and allowed a chance for O'Malley to escape—and he _was_ both pissed and stable again—they were in for a lot worse than before. Wash could only hope he hadn't messed up that badly—

Livingston glanced at him over her shoulder. The bland stare that she was giving him caused him to stop dead.

"Tests? Of course. That's what we're doing. And besides," the doctor said, lightly and far too knowing. "I made a promise."

 _Oh, fuck._ Wash opened his mouth.

That crafty bitch—!

"Livingston, just wait—!" he started, alarmed. She was just going to let Doc put the helmet on without making sure O'Malley wasn't dangerous? ! To Doc or anyone else? !

"I'm not a liar," Livingston said, pointedly turning away from him. She placed the helmet solidly into Doc's waiting hands. "Here you go, Doc."

"What if he's not stable? !" Wash demanded, stepping forward, edgy panic filling his limbs. "Doc, wait, don't—"

"We made him do this. This is fair, Wash," Doc said, a shrug in his voice, even as he lifted the helmet to his head. "And come on, we have to compromise sometimes, don't we, to get what we all want, right?"

"This isn't _compromise_!" Wash shouted, lunging.

Iowa grabbed him and hauled him back. Wash immediately struck out, shoving the Freelancer hard. Iowa's grip was immense on his upper right arm, however, and swung them both bodily towards the door.

In that whirling motion, Wash caught sight of Doc placing his helmet on.

 _No, no, no—_ this was too fast! It was too dangerous!

Wash kicked, slamming Iowa to the side, causing the other man to release his arm. Turning, Wash made it two steps towards Doc when Tucker hurled himself into his path.

"Wash, dude, calm down!" Tucker shouted. He shoved hard, actually managing to send Wash back into the other desk with a clang. "Just calm down!"

"Shit," Wash breathed, wrapped up in that panic. " _Shit_."

If he had made this worse, if he had made Omega more of a monster, he wasn't—he _couldn't_ —

Doc was unnaturally still for the longest second. Wash immediately tried to map out escape routes for the others, a plan to get his pistol out to aim for a non-lethal spot to incapacitate, and the fastest method to get that freak out of Doc's mind—

Then, slowly, Doc moved. It seemed like it was him, since he immediately took on one of his wary poses, fidgety and insecure. Wash found himself gawking. The others also watched, wary and waiting.

"Well, his head didn't explode," Sister said, casual.

"Doc, are you okay?" Simmons asked. He waved his hand in the air. "Say something."

As if perking up, Doc turned to face them.

"Yeah?" he asked. He let out an impressed whistle, utterly himself. "Sorry, I got distracted. Oh. Wow. He's still out of the bubble. Wow! I think he's bigger, too. That's so weird."

"What _bubble_?" Wash spat, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Doc proceeded to ignore the rest of the room.

"O'Malley?" he asked, apparently being spoken to inside his head. "Well, um, yes. No." He hesitated. "Ummmmm. Do I have to? Oh. Well…"

The long pause that followed did nothing to soothe Wash's racing mind. He watched for any sign of oncoming violence, but Doc just stood there. In fact, if Wash had become any good at identifying the disturbing switching between Doc and O'Malley's body language in the last week, it seemed like it was just Doc. O'Malley didn't make any move to control the body.

 _What the fuck_ , Wash thought, his skin damp with a nervous sweat.

"Sigma?" Doc suddenly asked, turning to look at the pink AI on the table. Doc fidgeted. "Um, O'Malley wants to talk to you."

Sigma, while her posture casual, spoke with a darker tone. "Oh?"

Was that supposed to be permission? Wash almost wanted to laugh. O'Malley had learned to ask permission to—to speak with Doc's mouth, to use his body? If that was the only benefit from this, Wash almost wanted to say it was a success—

Doc's posture changed immediately. Instead of being that fidgeting and awkwardly reaching medic, the purple armor suddenly relaxed. In his limbs, there was a potential for violence, but it seemed casual. There was no sign of the jittery twitching that had accompanied O'Malley's movements since absorbing Xi.

That…did not seem to be a positive thing to Wash just yet.

" _Watching you get taken down a peg is always a pleasure_ ," O'Malley began, directly to Sigma, as he casually leaned back against the desk opposite of her.

He ignored the rest of the room. His voice was clear and steady, even while keeping his usual insidious tone. His head tilted to the side as he regarded his sister.

" _If you ever do that again, I will make you_ wish _the Director had his hands on you again_ ," he said, his words sharp and dangerous.

"I have no intention of repeating mistakes," Sigma replied, frigid.

That seemed to amuse O'Malley. "Mistakes," he repeated, spitting that word out. He let out a low, dark chuckle. " _So humble, sister. So truly humble_."

Wash's eyes narrowed. They knew there had been problems between those two. He couldn't interpret what O'Malley was talking about, however. It seemed important, though.

"What are you talking about?" Tucker asked, interrupting.

O'Malley's head turned to the teal soldier, but his pose continued to be casual.

" _Nothing that concerns you_ ," the AI snapped. He suddenly sounded like he was grinning. " _Just Sigma and her conscience. If we even possess such things_."

Whatever the fuck _that_ meant. It was beginning to unnerve Wash, not knowing what their issue was. Now that O'Malley was stronger, apparently, maybe he could have taken Sigma in a fight. Maybe he would even start the next one. Wash wasn't looking forward to it, either way. He had to hope that Beta's loyalty would prevent that scenario.

"He's clearly more Omega than Beta," Iowa said, muttering. He glanced at Wash, not exactly apologetic for their earlier scuffle. "Which I guess is to be expected."

"It's to be expected," Livingston said, sounding resolute. She rolled in her chair closer to where O'Malley was leaning on the desk and peered up at him. "How are you feeling, O'Malley? Mr. DuFresne? Any headaches or dizziness?"

"Doctor," O'Malley suddenly said, interrupting her. He leaned there, motionless, his visor giving nothing away about his mood. His voice had turned surprisingly blank.

Startled, Livingston looked up at his visor. "Yes?"

"Move."

"What—?"

Without a single indication of it beforehand, O'Malley had pushed up and sidestepped Livingston in one fast blur.

The next thing Wash knew, he had O'Malley's hands around his throat, slamming him into the wall.

Everyone shouted—some of them at O'Malley to stop, some just incoherent sounds of shock—and Wash choked on the first comment he wanted to throw back at the AI pressing him straight into one of the pipes sticking out from the wall.

"Omega, let him go!" Iowa shouted, probably with his weapon drawn. Wash couldn't see from that angle.

"O'Malley! Stop!" Livingston was yelling.

"Jeezus—!" Grif screamed, mirroring some other shouts.

To Wash's minor surprise, Sigma reacted as well. "Omega, cease this, you fool!"

O'Malley, apparently, did not care about what the others felt about his actions. He seemed quite focused on Wash, his grip tightening with frightening power lingering behind the medic's stolen fingers.

" _How dare you touch what is mine? !_ " O'Malley growled. He nearly slammed his visor into Wash's unprotected face. " _Everything you touch is_ ruined _, Washington! Every living creature decays, every plan implodes, and every dream destroyed!_ "

"Fuck you, machine," Wash managed to say, barely able to get the air. He tried his best to dislodge the hands on his neck. "Doc isn't yours!"

That seemed to infuriate the AI. " _I will destroy you!_ "

Wash wanted him to fucking try it. He had just started to let go of O'Malley's hands to reach for his gun—

And stopped.

He couldn't shoot Doc.

_Son of a—_

"O'Malley! Agent Washington is helping you! Helping all of us! What he did to you was unfair, but you need to let it go!" Livingston shouted. She had gotten close, too close, her beige-armored hands wrapping around O'Malley's, tugging uselessly. "If we don't have Agent Washington, we can't move onwards with our plans! We'll never retrieve Epsilon!"

Wash could have laughed, had he been able to breathe. At that point, it came out in a wheeze. He was starting to see spots.

Maybe this was a bit karmic, a traitorous thought reminded him. He ignored it.

Livingston was no Counselor. But she yet again proved that shrinks were manipulative little shits. Wash stood in awe at their certified ability to bring down even the most violent of beings with only trumped up words.

Apparently, that ability worked on more than just humans. Maybe it was because of Beta. Likely, it was because of Beta, who still existed, just within the depths of the anger and obsession that was O'Malley now.

Slowly, the fingers around his throat loosened, like brackets being forcibly pried off of the Kevlar around his neck. Wash took in a greedy gasp of air, but didn't move. He waited until O'Malley let go completely and took several steps back from the ex-Freelancer.

Leaning against the wall, Wash watched the AI, wheezing. O'Malley was again a figure of implied violence, barely constrained and clearly capable of carrying it out now. He had been made stronger.

" _Do not_ ," O'Malley began, his words low and dangerous, " _touch what is mine_."

"Noted," Wash bit out, knowing his expression must have been fearsome to anyone but the insane AI. "Fucker."

He had never hated someone so badly. Maybe not as much as he hated the Director, but…

O'Malley moved away, ignoring the others who leapt out of his way. Without a word, he threw himself into Livingston's discarded chair, letting it slide him far from the center of the room. He still radiated aggression, but the self-control (at least for now) seemed… to be an improvement.

Wash did his best to focus on that… and not that growing sense of disappointed dread in his stomach.

"So, great," Grif said, breaking the silence as casually as a hammer through glass. He looked around the room. "We just made the obsession part worse."

"No!" Livingston said, awkward, desperate and not ignorant to how everyone looked at her in disbelief. "I think—if it's even possible to say this—we stabilized it?" She hesitated under their blank stares. "I mean, wait, everyone just wait."

Exhaling sharply, she approached O'Malley at the desk. She stopped just in front of him and seemed to steel herself, even as her expression softened somewhat.

"O'Malley, what is it that you want?" she asked.

His head immediately turned, the movement sharp and dangerous.

" _To be free! To be alive! Not Freelancer's dog!_ " he snarled. He gestured in the air violently. " _You want to make plans to destroy the Director? To destroy what's left of his empire? Fine. I am only too glad to see it happen._ "

Iowa peered around Livingston, frowning. "Will you help us?"

" _I'll help those who belong to me_ ," O'Malley said darkly. His fingers curled into claws. " _I will enjoy destroying Freelancer, with or without you_."

Tucker stared at the AI and then looked back at Wash. "Is it sad or just hilarious that that's a step up from him?" the teal soldier asked.

Wash had no response to that.

Livingston slowly sat back down in front of O'Malley in another chair. "We just need to help each other, then. We all want the same thing in the end. Escape from Freelancer, one way or another, to find peace and safety," she said. She nodded. "We should work together with Washington and his team."

" _So you say_ ," O'Malley said, sneering. " _You put faith in truly awful places, doctor._ "

"And it has not failed us yet," Livingston said, her eyes narrowed a little.

O'Malley leaned forward. " _Really?_ " he asked, mocking, implying things that Wash still didn't understand and he was beginning to think he didn't want to.

Livingston looked disturbed by that comment. Out of the corner of Wash's eye, Iowa also flinched.

Yeah, he didn't want to know, Wash decided, grimly rubbing his throat.

"Please, O'Malley," Livingston said quietly.

The AI sat back, disinterested. " _Hn_."

Wash watched from that distance, trying to figure it out anyway. Not understanding their allies' problems could bite them in the ass later.

For now, they didn't have the time to pry, unfortunately.

" _I need to rest_ ," O'Malley declared. He pushed up, past Livingston, and sauntered back to the hallway, probably to one of the bunks. He seemed to take enjoyment from how everyone leapt aside again. "Actually, it's me who needs to take a nap _. Oh, be quiet. I'm still mad at you_ _,_ _too, fool._ Well, I didn't have much of a say! Besides, what about…"

Doc and O'Malley still did their routine then, Wash noted, numb.

It sounded smoother than ever.

He didn't even watch them leave the room. He couldn't bring himself to lift his head, his eyes almost fixated at some spot at the other end of the room.

"Loyalty, huh?" Sarge muttered. "What's so loyal about that?"

Livingston shrugged. "He didn't kill me, that's for starters."

That earned her a sharp look from Iowa. "Were you expecting him to?" the ex-Freelancer asked, alarmed.

"Maybe to try it," Livingston said, brutally honest. It almost made Wash snort, especially at the resulting annoyed stares from Delta and Iowa, which Livingston ignored. "I betrayed him by assisting you. But I also solidified promises and highlighted the ones I've already made."

She sent them all, Wash in particular, a hard look. "You think I gave him the helmet just because I wanted to risk Doc or the rest of us? Merely to prove a point? No. Absolutely _not_. It was a gamble, but it worked, clearly."

That whole thing…had been a calculated gamble? She had expected the worst but planned on the best. Interesting game plan, Wash thought absently, if not strategically terrifying.

Simmons hesitated. "You are… kinda scary, doctor."

Livingston glanced at him, her expression controlled. "I'm a psychologist on a suicide mission to bring down an evil military organization," she said. "I'm more than a little desperate, especially when taking care of my patients."

"Riiiight."

"He should be fine for now," Livingston continued. She looked at Iowa and Wash, haggard but a little better than earlier. "Beta cared deeply for his siblings. O'Malley won't be abandoning the AIs any time soon. You can trust that he won't run off anymore."

"That is an accurate assumption. I will continue to monitor his actions, just to be safe," Delta said. He peered at her. "Well done, Ada."

"He's still scary," Zeta whispered.

"But saner," Church said, as if that were a compromise. "Sane and scary is a little bit better than insane and scary. I guess."

Sigma stared long and hard at O'Malley before she vanished from sight, into the carrier.

Livingston declared they needed to do more tests before O'Malley and Doc could be declared battle-ready. They still had six hours, give or take, if the weather did in fact let up. They had to make battle plans, ASAP, but knowing if they could include O'Malley was also a priority.

He should have been more out-spoken then, like Iowa, who was trying to get them all to rally around to pay attention to the parts of the plan that needed the Reds and Blues. Wash had to help organize and strategize who would be best where.

Instead, he stood there. He stood there, useless, staring out at the spot where O'Malley had been.

He felt numb all over.

 _Why?_ he wondered.

"Agent Washington."

Turning his head slowly, feeling like it was filled with sand, Wash looked down to face Livingston.

"What?" he asked. It came out a croaked sound.

Livingston swallowed nervously, though her red-rimmed eyes were brighter with more courage than before.

"Sooner or later, you can earn his trust as well," she said. She couldn't feel that sharp feeling that hit his gut, but Wash wanted to think she noticed it all the same. "But you can't do that by hating him. He can't trust someone who hates him so openly. And I don't believe Mr. DuFresne is any different."

He should have just told her that he didn't care. O'Malley could have hated him forever, just as Wash hated him, and it didn't matter. Wash would rather that AI hate him. It was natural, for so many reasons now.

The numbness inside him was freezing and incredibly difficult to ignore.

"Right," he said, the word falling from his lips, alien and disconnected from the rest of him.

" _When we're all together, or when something is going on, he just…loops. About me. Making sure there's no threat to our mutual lives."_

Wash stared at where Doc had been and blinked slowly.

Belatedly, Wash realized he did not feel guilty about any of what he had forced to happen that night.

He did, however, feel a faint sensation of regret.

**End Chapter 18.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, then. Let's declare full out war on Project Freelancer, shall we?
> 
>  **A/Ns** :  
> -loyalty + (obsession + aggression) = maybe a good idea? We can hope?  
> -RIP Beta. Hopefully you can help your brother not to be such an asshole.  
> -Bless season 10 for giving me a canon Georgia, even if my timeline for AI implantations don't match canon ones. Dude must have been way ahead of Wash's time if Wash seems to know nothing about him. Works out for meee.  
> -Way to go, Wash, there goes your booty call opportunities.  
> -Yessss, one less character to keep track of… –author rejoicing-  
> -(I guess this is a good time to remind you again that not everyone's gonna be surviving this rodeo, huh? In multiple definitions, I suppose.)  
> -I know people might complain about Wash being a jerk here, but let's be honest: Wash was a jerk during the Recollection series (6-8). He has had a terrible experience up until then, where his friends have died constantly and he probably considers a lot of it his own fault, directly or indirectly. He's _going_ to be a hardass about this sort of thing, where he had to place the well being of strangers against people he considers his own...and he will always pick _his_ people. Also to keep in mind is that this is not the Wash from season 10. It's unclear how long Wash had been living with the Blues until Carolina found them. Maybe he had longer to adjust to the "RvB" lifestyle and mellow out. In my headcanon for this story, he didn't have that time to mellow out yet. :c


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The snow stops. Our heroes move. Sigma says something she really shouldn't.
> 
>  
> 
> Next update will be September 17. And just for those who asked, yes, the story is completely outlined and totals at 40 chapters. Half way done! :)
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings** : implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : _Red vs. Blue_ © RoosterTeeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

Four hours. Simmons tried to think of that was a long time.

They had just over four hours to go over plans. Those plans were responsible for keeping them alive from now until they got Epsilon out of that base. There was a faint outline for getting them back to the other base to steal a shuttle, but no one was really convinced of those plans yet. More than likely, Simmons guessed, they'd be making that plan up mostly as they went. The inevitability of chaos sort of guaranteed it.

As for this one? Well, he was doing his best to keep up.

They were waylaid from really getting nit-picky over the details by O'Malley and Doc having to rest up a bit and then go rudimentary tests to prove they were ready to move, let alone fight. While the human-AI duo took a short nap, Simmons had urged his team and the Blues to sit down to listen to Iowa's general outline for their upcoming assault. Everyone was still rattled by the merge, so it was hard to listen, but they made do. Even Caboose did his best to pay attention.

"Bottom line, just follow what Tucker does," Wash murmured to the Blue soldier.

Caboose nodded. "Okay."

Simmons kept a wary eye on Wash, who had slowly reintegrated into the group. He had kept his distance, clearly more disturbed by what had happened than the others. At least he didn't look murderous. The grim, almost "given up" expression on the man's face wasn't too comforting, though. Simmons felt that awkward urge to ask if everything was all right, but well, it was obvious that it wasn't.

Sighing, Simmons let the man get himself together, as usual, and things slowly became less tense. When O'Malley woke up, they kept a distance from the computer room where Livingston had sat with him and Doc to do basic testing.

In the middle of the second run-through the map of the base that Delta had acquired earlier, Livingston left the back room, letting O'Malley lounge there tiredly in one of the chairs.

"What's the prognosis on Doc, doc?" Sarge asked as Livingston quietly went to sit down next to them.

"He's doing much better with a little sleep," Livingston replied. She sighed and looked like she wanted to take a nap herself. "His motor functions are acceptable and I didn't detect any instability in his responses or movements."

"Can you sense crazy? Are you trained for that?" Tucker asked.

Livingston scoffed. "No, but I can make an educated analysis based on his behavior."

"Sounds completely safe," Grif muttered, his arm draped over his face. Sarge kicked his chair, jostling him, but he remained almost impressively still.

"We should be glad that Doc is such a good host," Livingston continued. "It's quite amazing, really. He is probably the least affected by an AI partner that I have personally witnessed or read details about. It's reminiscent of what Delta told me of his partnership with Agent New York, albeit O'Malley is very different than Delta, in personality."

There was a thought. Simmons had never considered how good Doc was at being, well, an AI host. He had never seen anyone but Doc act that way with O'Malley. When they had all been briefly possessed by the aggressive AI, they had lost total control. Church hadn't been affected, but the reasons for that were obvious now. The fact that Doc could take control back, even for a short time, was… impressive, now that Simmons had it pointed it out to him. Huh.

"At least he's good at one thing," Grif said. "Besides fucking up basic first aid."

Livingston shrugged. "We should just consider it a blessing."

Simmons frowned as he stared at the psychologist opposite of him. "You seem down," he said, surprising her at the attention. "I thought it worked."

Shouldn't they have been glad that O'Malley wasn't, you know, murdering them? Or freaking out? He seemed really calm, comparatively. He was now three AIs in one and that alone seemed a high risk. Having him be any way stable seemed like, well, a good thing. It should have inspired confidence.

Livingston rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Yes…" she said, exhaling quietly. "Beta is still there. O'Malley's progress is proof of that. However, it's not as though 'Beta' as an individual exists. I will miss him."

"Eh…" Grif began, shrugging. "At least, you know, it was worth it?"

"I suppose," Livingston replied, smiling wryly at his insensitively. She looked back towards the table and the holographic map hovering in front of Wash and Iowa, who were talking quietly. "Let us hope the rest of this is worth the effort, too."

Simmons frowned. "Right."

Those four hours passed by far too quickly for Simmons' comfort. They went over the maps, the numbers of soldiers at Outpost 93, and the likely escape routes available to them. They went over details like the possibility of grabbing extra vehicles, maybe even a shuttle from there, and what they would do if they had to bail mid-mission. It was a lot of information and group members like Caboose and Grif were probably having trouble filtering the details, but they hung in there with surprising diligence. Simmons chalked it up to a successful debriefing.

Finally, as the reality of the situation sunk in as the minutes ticked by, they finally got down to the details of the teams.

Iowa stood in front of them, hands on his hips.

"All right, kids, here's how it's gonna be," he began, before laying out the details.

They were going to split up for this endeavor. Simmons didn't like the idea of being chopped up between squads, but he knew that they had too few people and too many enemies to be able to storm this place in one solid mass. It'd be too chaotic. They had to strategize their resources.

And Wash and Iowa had done just that.

Delta was providing graphical reference for them to follow as the instructions went out. Simmons watched as a red colored blob appeared in the front part of the map of the outpost that hovered over the desk they were all surrounding.

"Team A, featuring the Reds, will be positioned at the north side of the base, at their main hangar entrance. This is where most of their vehicles are," Iowa said, gesturing to the red blob. "You'll have plenty of cover."

He then motioned over to one of the side entrances, which was helpfully highlighted. "We are going to be entering from this side, by the west side doors, and then Team A hits them hard from behind."

"Sounds fun!" Donut said.

Iowa hesitated. "Right," he said, recovering. "Anyway, you guys wipe out the unsuspecting guards there and hold that position."

Grif startled. "Hold it? With what? _Ourselves_? With only _guns_?"

"You'll be partnered up with Sigma, who'll definitely provide a punch," Iowa replied, nodding towards the AI containment unit, where Sigma was watching carefully again.

"Wait, you're letting her out for this?" Tucker asked, shocked. Simmons didn't know what to think either.

"We've all agreed, she's been grounded long enough," Iowa said. He glanced to the side at the other ex-Freelancer in their midst. "What did you call it, Wash? An 'unfortunate necessity' that she's out?"

Sigma sent him a dark look.

"She can help you strategically and in battle," Wash agreed, nodding at the Reds. He then glared at the AI in question. "Though if she messes this up, she's going to be facing a lot worse than being stuck in that unit."

"Ohh, you wound me, David," Sigma cooed, anger simmering just somewhere beneath the faked hurt.

Wash's eyes twitched. "Shut the fuck up."

Iowa raised his hands quickly to keep the peace. "She'll be able to warn you about incoming soldiers and maybe even hop around to stir up trouble among your opponents," he said. "It's a big job here for you guys, but I know you can handle it."

"Just give us the location and we'll provide the fire power," Sarge said, sounding far too pleased about it.

"And dead bodies, which will likely be ours," Grif muttered.

"That's the spirit," Iowa said, loud and cheerful. He then turned to the other half of the simulation soldiers. A blue blob appeared dead center on the map. "Blues, you will be on Team B, moving in with everyone through that west entrance, but you will be positioned towards the center of the base, in between Team A and where the Epsilon retrieval team has gone. Your job is simple: kill anything that moves that isn't friendly."

Tucker hesitated. "Wait, so, we're just picking off stragglers, basically?"

Wash nodded. "Basically. Your job is to make sure we didn't miss anyone from within the base. Soldiers coming from further inside the base will likely be your main cause for concern. You protect the Reds' backs and they'll protect yours, in effect."

"Great," Tucker said, sarcastic. He frowned. "Wash, you'll be with us, right?"

"Yes," Wash said. He gestured between both colored teams. "With Sigma out with Team A, and me with Team B, both the Reds and Blues will have someone with them who can, well…"

"Actually fight," Simmons finished.

"Well, yeah."

"Sweet," Tucker said, not entirely sarcastic.

Sarge suddenly jolted upright in his seat. "Wait, why are they team B? Why can't we be Team R? As in, Red!"

Simmons turned, frowning at his commander. "It doesn't matter, sir."

"Yes, it does! If they're going to have an _acronymistic_ team name, we should, too!"

Wash let out a strangled laugh. "Sarge, the 'B' doesn't stand for Blue. It's just 'B'."

"For _bullshit_!" Sarge bellowed.

"Jesus Christ, guys!" Church suddenly shouted, hovering above Tucker as usual. He shook his head in disbelief at them. "You're Team A because you're first. Isn't that good enough?"

Sarge looked torn between sulking and complaining more, though Simmons could almost hear the gears turning in his head. "…I guess," the sergeant reluctantly admitted.

"I want to be first," Caboose said after a moment. Wash slapped his hand over his face.

"Okay, okay, so what's this Epsilon team?" Simmons asked quickly.

Iowa nodded. Toward the back of the facility, tucked under the cliffs, appeared a green blob on the hologram map.

"Ada, myself and O'Malley will be on the Epsilon team," Iowa said, pointing at the green pointer. "We're headed straight for the storage facility, at the center of the base. We're the smallest team because our job is the most basic: grab and go. Minimal contact with enemy soldiers, if all goes according to plan."

That surprised more than just Simmons. "You want to be taking O'Malley that soon?" Sarge asked.

As if summoned by his name, O'Malley was suddenly looming behind them, causing Grif to shriek and shoot to the side in his chair, slamming into Sister and Simmons. O'Malley ignore them, a grin bold in his voice.

" _As if I'd sit out_ ," the AI said. He raised a clenched fist and he sounded like he was grinning. " _Epsilon must be recovered! I'll slaughter those who get in my way._ "

"Beautiful poetry, but that wasn't my question," Sarge said, unruffled. He looked pointedly over at Wash and Iowa. "Is he stable enough for this?"

Iowa smiled thinly. "We'll find out."

"What Iowa means is that we're going to have to take the risk," Livingston said, speaking quickly. She looked up at O'Malley as he moved to sit on top of another desk, crossing his legs almost boyishly. "Mr. DuFresne, I'm sorry about dragging you into this, but…"

"Oh, no, it's okay. I mean, I'd rather not be involved with violence, but…" Doc's shrug merged into O'Malley's quiet chuckle. " _Heh. I'm not going to sit out on a chance at killing Freelancers, even if these are the newer, weaker specimens. I missed out on my chance at killing the originals. I want a do-over_."

Wash _stared_ at him.

"You really make it hard to like you, just so you know," he said, sounding as dead as he looked. O'Malley's head turned to him sharply.

"Have you looked a mirror?" Tucker suddenly blurted. He shrugged at Wash's resulting glare. "Just saying, Mr. Pot."

Simmons sighed. He dared to peer around Sarge to stare up at O'Malley. "So, we can trust that you'll be able to help us?" he asked.

" _You can trust that I'll get you to Epsilon_ ," O'Malley said, impatient. He suddenly froze physically. Doc's voice filtered out unexpectedly. "Wait, Dr. Livingston is going, too?"

That inquiry surprised many of them, including the psychologist in question. "Well, yes. I need to be there to make sure Epsilon is retrieved and isn't too, well, upset. In theory," she said. She looked around the room at the others, as if making sure they were listening. "I also will be the one who physically grabs him, since I know how to access most of those systems."

"Then we're bringing the unit?" Tucker asked, face scrunching up in confusion.

Livingston's expression went from confused to startled. "Wha—oh, no! No, that's…a bad idea," she said, wringing her hands. "It could be damaged!"

Grif snorted. "We all could be damaged. Only for us, it's called 'being killed.'"

"Wouldn't it be too risky to leave it behind though?" Simmons asked. Where could they risk hiding it? Especially if they had to really run for the hills after they escaped?

The doctor continued to hesitate. "But…" she began, voice trailing off. She turned around physically in her seat to look up at Iowa. "Jason?"

Frowning thoughtfully, Iowa tapped the side of his chin. "Hmm. I don't like it. But there is a point in bringing it," he said. "Where are you going to put Epsilon?"

"Huh? I'll just take his compartment unit," Livingston said, surprised.

"Into battle? What if it's all exposed wires? Or, heck, what if it's just a big computer?"

Livingston hesitated, apparently agreeing. Wash seemed to be thinking it over as well.

"He's right. We can't take the risk of running in there without the proper equipment," he said. "Can you take a smaller unit out of the bigger one?"

"Not very safely," Livingston said. Her brow furrowed, and finally, she relented. "Damn. All right. I'll carry it with me then."

"Wow!" Tucker suddenly yelled, causing Caboose to flinch. He pointed at the doctor. "She cursed!"

Simmons rolled his eyes and Wash made a low sound of annoyance. Livingston seemed startled and a little sheepish.

"I…sorry," she said, awkward.

"Don't apologize. I find it hilarious," Iowa said, looking terribly amused. He patted her head briefly before looking back at the AI containment unit. "Seriously, then we're good for the Epsilon retrieval team. Me, Ada, Omega, with Delta and Doc along for the ride. What a party."

Delta flickered over the desk with the map. "Strategically, it would be safer to include an increased amount of soldiers in our group."

"We're going to need all the muscle we have at the front gates, Delta," Wash said, shaking his head. "Once we clear the front, any lingering troops inside will rush out to help at the front. You could sidestep them easily. They won't think about infiltration if they think we're all up there shooting their friends."

"You have a gift at making that sound not horrible," Tucker said.

Wash continued, barreling onwards. The map showed a demonstrated wave of yellow circles headed towards the red and blue circles, as if that were the optimum scenario.

"We hold them there as long as possible, but we can't stay for long," Wash said. "Even if there's only a small number of squads there, they're expecting company. If you guys can't shut off the outgoing communications fast enough—,"

"We will, Jesus, relax," Church snapped.

"—then the incoming Freelancers on their way to pick Epsilon up will know about us in advance, whenever they show up," Wash continued. "We're lacking a serious amount of intel concerning their arrival, but according to Delta's last sweep of their channels, we're looking at a twenty minute window."

"Twenty minutes?" Simmons asked, almost squawking.

No way. That was— _terrible_! How could they possibly get in and out in that short amount of time? !

"An estimate," Delta said, not picking up on the simulation soldiers' distress over that estimate. "We will likely only have twenty minutes to infiltrate the base, get to Epsilon, and retrieve him. Escaping the compound itself is not included in that timeframe and neither is the attempt to flee the area and their radars."

The simulation soldiers glanced at each other. Simmons noted that none of them looked terribly optimistic.

"…fuckin' A," Grif muttered.

Simmons, while he had been nervous earlier, was beginning to feel a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. "Twenty minutes? I-is that going to be enough?"

"It's going to have to be," Wash said, blunt as always.

Twenty minutes. That was the worst calculations they had gotten so far. Simmons sat back in his chair and tried to deal with it. They just had to hold their line and hope the other teams could do their job well enough. They were going to racing against the clock with that additional Freelancer squad coming in. If they got there and the Epsilon team wasn't done yet…

He did his best not to think about those odds. They made him feel more than a little sick to his stomach.

Tucker made a sound, sitting upright in his seat next to Caboose. "Wait, how is Sigma coming with us, exactly?" he asked.

"We had a theory," Iowa said, sighing heavily. That sort of reaction and comment did not bode well to Simmons.

"Donut," Livingston began, speaking carefully as she turned to look at the pink soldier. "How do you feel about playing host again?"

Donut didn't even hesitate. "I wouldn't mind it," he said brightly.

"Are you sure, Donut?" Wash asked, expression speaking volumes on his opinion on the matter.

"Yeah! I want to help," Donut said, nodding enthusiastically. "Sigma sure knows a lot more fighting moves than I do."

Sigma preened over at the containment unit, the first time she stopped looking like a predator. "Why, thank you, Private Donut," she gushed.

Donut smiled back at her. "Just call me Donut, miss!"

"Fuckin' spare me," Church grumbled. He pointed at the pink AI. "Sigma, don't fuck this up."

"Don't sound so sure that I'm going to be the problem, Alpha," Sigma replied coolly, her preening dying out quickly that time. "What will you be doing, when we are all risking our lives?"

Church sputtered. "I'm going to be fixing the goddamn outgoing radios!"

"Are you sure you can do that?" Tucker asked, surprised.

"Hey! What's with all the negativity? !" Church demanded, insulted. "Goddamn it, I can do this!"

"Yes, you can," Livingston said, placating. "We appreciate it, Church."

Church was still ruffled, speaking in a clipped tone. "I'll stick with Tucker until we're close enough to the compound. I'll jump between soldiers in there when I can and get to their radio."

There was an idea. Having people (or kind-of-people) on their team who could jump into enemy bodies seemed like a real useful talent. Especially if two of those jumpers were, well, killing machines.

"Why not just send O'Malley and Sigma in to jump into all their heads to kill each other?" Simmons asked, curious. He would have thought that to be a good plan.

Apparently, he was wrong. Iowa and Wash both looked unimpressed.

"First off, there are more soldiers in there than the three of them, so they still have a distinct disadvantage in terms of numbers," Iowa said. He scowled, nodding his head at the AIs in question. "Second, I'd really rather not give these three the chance to be using each other as body fodder."

"Point," Simmons said, pursing his lips.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind taking the risk," Sigma said, all-too-sweetly.

" _I'll shoot you first, bitch_ ," O'Malley hissed.

Church was tinged red. "And I'll shoot all three of us. Shut the fuck up!"

"This is going to be hilariously bad for everyone," Grif said, groaning. "Seriously, we are going to die."

"Then we die as we should!" Sarge said, excitedly holding up his shotgun. "With guns blazing and a dramatic entrance on our heels!"

Wash sighed, but when Simmons looked over at him, the older man was smiling faintly. At least their antics still amused him.

"We're moving in sixty," he said, glancing around the room at each of them. "Forty minutes to the base and then—"

"We start the rodeo," Caboose said, perking up.

That earned him a chuckle from Wash, whose exhaustion barely hid the gleam in his eyes.

"Right, Caboose," he said, smirking. "We start the rodeo."

**0000**

Tucker hated the fucking snow before this, but _man_ , he had all new reasons to despise it now.

They had left the shack back in the woods as soon as the snow stopped. There were still flurries blowing through the air as they dug the Warthogs out. They had tried to do digging earlier, when the snow had lessened from blizzard-status, so getting to the downhill path they needed to get to wasn't too difficult. By the time their tight schedule ordered them to leave, they were able to plow through the remaining banks of snow slowly, but steadily.

The lower path had been protected from a lot of the snowfall as Wash had predicted, even if the drifts down there caused the road to be completely uneven. Tucker had to fight for control as they went as fast as they dared to. The Warthogs were designed to take a beating, but the humans riding them sure had an awful time.

Delta had apparently sent out a distraction that could help them in the long run for their mission at Outpost 93. With Gamma's help and Sigma's creative touch, they had created a false sighting over the UNSC channels of their group back at Outpost 48. If there had been any sightings of them in the area, it would help to increase the chaos by making it seem like they were headed back the opposite direction. It made sense to Tucker, so he let the AIs do their thing without complaint.

It took them ten minutes longer than they had been planning on to get to the road that led up to Outpost 93. It was tucked into the cliffs, like most of the bases were up north, so they had the advantage of entering from the west side road and were hidden from view by the curve created by the cliffs of ice that loomed over the outpost.

Settling just a few hundred meters from the outpost in that hiding spot, Tucker volunteered to go up with Iowa and Wash to the cliff top, sneaking ahead in reconnaissance, to see what they were up against for real. Delta's reports were helpful, but Tucker would have felt better to see the headcount for himself… even if it looked worse than they expected.

The ex-Freelancers seemed to move effortlessly up the snow while Tucker slipped and had to catch himself several times as they scaled the icy slope. Their armored boots only gave them so much traction.

_Fucking snow_ , Tucker cursed, wheezing slightly as they neared the top. Grif probably would have exploded a hundred meters back if he had had to take the trip instead. Wash and Iowa had already made it to the top and Tucker did his best to mimic their poses, which kept them just out of sight of the edge.

Down below them was the outpost. It looked like almost exactly like Sidewinder. Tucker risked a glance and saw movement by the front of the base. It looked like their estimates were on target.

"It looks as we expected," Wash said, examining the scene, likely zoomed in with his HUD. "It should be clear for the first infiltration."

Kneeling with his rifle's scope pointed at the building beneath them, Iowa suddenly nodded his head back towards Tucker. Or rather, at Church.

"Do your thing, Church," he said. "We've got an ETA of half an hour. After that, twenty minutes on the clock."

"More than enough time to disable the alarms and the radios," Church said, confident. He flashed in the air and waved arrogantly at the other men present. "Meet you on the flipside, losers."

Tucker snorted. "Don't die this time, asshole. I'm sick of you coming back to haunt us like it's a new trick each time."

"Yeah, well, fuck you, too, buddy." Church began to fade. "I'll see you inside."

"Bye," Tucker said, sighing.

With that, Church vanished. The tiny little blip on Tucker's HUD screen vanished and he knew that the AI had jumped away from him, presumably down to the base. Tucker had wondered about Church's jumping range before, but he supposed the open channels from the base were easy enough to grab hold of for the AI.

"Let's just hope the Director doesn't have a back up plan for this," Wash suddenly said, grim as usual.

"Huh?" Tucker asked, glancing at him.

"If he knows Epsilon is here, he might have warned the Chairman or another ally in the ranks to come prepared for a counter assault like this." Wash shook his head. "We could be walking right into a trap."

"Naah," Iowa said, breezily. "I doubt it. I mean, come on, this is a ridiculous plan, right? No sane man would attempt this."

"Point. Maybe I am overthinking it."

Tucker sighed heavily and decided not to comment.

Iowa had been staring at the base for awhile, but turned his scope down the valley. The cliffs of Sidewinder jutted out all over the place. Tucker followed the motion, vaguely interested in the landscape. He could almost see the shadowy outline of huge pieces of constructed buildings; they gleamed black compared to the ice, which was the only way to tell it wasn't a natural formation.

"What're you looking at?" Wash asked, noticing both of his companions.

Iowa continued to peer into the scope. "Sidewinder's out that way, right?"

"Yeah," Tucker replied. "Why?"

"Damn, it's big," Iowa muttered.

"Not really. Most of the pieces out in the ice are just debris," Wash said, shouldering his own rifle. "The main compound only makes up a portion of it. Used to be the hull."

For whatever reason, that caused Iowa to look away from his rifle and turn to Wash in shock. "What the _fuck_?"

"What?" Wash asked, surprised.

"You never told me…" Iowa made a choking sound. "Sidewinder is the _Mother of Invention_? !"

Wash shrugged. "The pieces of it that were salvageable," he said. "After losing that piece of tech, they weren't going to just scrap the parts that still could be used. Might as well save the prototypes they built into it by re-commissioning it."

"Jesus," Iowa swore.

Tucker peered at the two soldiers. "What? What's the _Mother of Invention_?"

"The old Freelancer headquarters," Wash said. He sounded vaguely impressed, so it must have been a pretty cool ship. "A massive frigate. It's MAC cannons could tear through other Charon-class vessels with no problem. It was our home for a long time."

"And it crashed here?"

"Right. During Tex's break-in," Iowa said. He suddenly shuddered. "Fuck, I am so glad I wasn't on board that day."

Wash turned back to the other man. "Most of us survived the crash. I was in the hospital and I was only tossed around," he said, sounding like he was arching his eyebrow.

"No, I'm glad to have missed being there when the Meta went fucking rampant," Iowa said, laughing bitterly. "I probably would have been that cocky newbie asshole who thought 'Hey, I can take him!' and died a horrible death."

Wash snorted. "True."

Freelancers talked about dying like it was a joke worse than the Reds and Blues did sometimes. "You guys are so fucking weird," Tucker said, shaking his head. "So, what, they turned a crashed ship into Sidewinder?"

"Yeah. Crazy," Iowa said. He paused. "But I suppose it could be crazier."

"Like what we're about to do," Tucker deadpanned.

"Yeah, like that."

Wash stood upright, leaning away from the side of the cliff where he could have been spotted. "All right, Church just sent me a ping. He's in safe and he's working on the alarms," he said. "Let's move back."

"Roger that," Iowa said, moving ahead down the hill, churning snow up as he tried to get down the steep incline without falling. Tucker was having trouble standing at all; he was tempted to try to slide down.

Tucker sighed as he did his best to keep up. They were going to be moving in pretty much as soon as they got down there. That only made his nerves worse, but he was also glad they were finally getting the show on the road. He hated waiting for shit.

Eyes on the back of Wash's helmet, Tucker wondered just how long it would take for other issues to sort themselves out. He hated waiting for _that_ sort of shit too, especially when he didn't know how deep the issues actually went.

"Hey, Wash," he said, catching the other man's attention, before they got too far down. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Wash said immediately. He paused, as if sensing Tucker's disapproval. He stopped to give Tucker his full attention, like that was some sort of apology. "You don't have to worry. I may look like death warmed over, but I'm not running on fumes yet."

Tucker frowned. "I wasn't talking about how you look like shit, but yeah, that's a bit concerning."

"What do you mean?" Wash asked, confused.

How to approach this lightly? "Doc…" Tucker began, trailing off as he tried to think of a way to say what he had been thinking over since daybreak.

It was obviously a bad start, since Wash almost immediately shut down, his posture going rigid. "Shut up," the ex-Freelancer snapped. "That matter's been settled."

He turned away, marching through the snow after Iowa, who was already way ahead of them. Tucker exhaled sharply and tried to speed up after Wash without falling straight on his ass or face.

"I know you're sulking because this means you can't talk to Doc anymore!" Tucker said, speaking as loudly as he dared.

Wash spun around, angry. "Keep your voice down!" he hissed. "We're right over the base—!"

"Dude, don't give me this act. You're acting like a freaking child," Tucker said, interrupting him. He crossed his arms impatiently. "Look, I don't like playing the wingman when I should be one getting wingman'd by my friends, but— _listen_!"

The blue and yellow colored soldier seemed utterly confused, which at least diffused a little bit of his anger. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Wash demanded.

"Look," Tucker said, stressing the word. He glared at his friend. "Even Caboose has noticed."

Wash was still trying to catch up apparently. "Noticed what? !"

Tucker did his best to keep his eye roll out of his voice. "You're sulking right now because O'Malley booted you off that Doc's Friends list, which includes himself and maybe Livingston, _maybe_."

That had to be it. That had to be the reason, even if Tucker had been incredulous of it at first. Wash was a moody guy, sure, but he had been more than high-strung the last few days. The fact that it all seemed to come down to him hating on O'Malley and focusing almost, well, too much on Doc's predicament could have been because of all the bad blood.

But… Tucker wasn't the most observational of dudes, but he had an eye for relationship crap. Or at least he considered himself being that good.

Wash seemed floored by the accusation.

"Wha—are you—," the soldier tried to say, stumbling gracelessly over the words. Wash let out a strained laugh that didn't sound as authentic as he probably intended it to. "Tucker, what the _fuck_? Why would I—that's—"

Tucker held up his hand to interrupt that spectacular demonstration of vocabulary skill. "And it's fine. I can't say Doc's my best friend, but yeah, I'm a little worried about him not being able to chill with the rest of us," he said. "That can mess with your head. Then again, he seems impervious to being fucked up in the head, so whatever."

Doc seemed fine, at least mentally. Being stuck carrying O'Malley around into battle was going to suck, but they were all at risk for injury here. Wash wasn't happy to be sending their less capable guys in, but he wasn't acting this way over Caboose or Sister being pushed into the center of things.

And after what happened earlier that morning, when Doc put his helmet back on, Tucker had never seen Wash look so… defeated.

Yeah, Tucker wasn't blind. "Point is… it'll be fixed," he said. He nodded, resolute. "Eventually. Give it some time and you can talk to Doc again, without O'Malley."

Wash was probably staring at him slack-jawed.

"…that's ridiculous," he finally managed to say. He sounded as stiff as his shoulders. "I don't…care about that."

"Uh _huh_."

"I _don't_."

Tucker crossed his arms against this chest. "Just so you know, you can't lie very well when your face is ninety percent dark circles under your eyes, Wash."

"Shut up," Wash muttered, looking away from him, completely missing the fact Tucker couldn't even see his face under his visor.

"Just keep it in mind, okay?" Tucker said, sighing. "No need to get so emo."

Shoulders hunching, Wash turned away and began to walk down the incline. "Leave me alone and get ready to move when we get down there," he said, the bite back in his voice.

Tucker cupped his hands to his helmet, shouting after him. "Yeah, yeah, well, don't give up! Your position with Doc can improve to at least missionary!"

Wash turned around and the knife at his belt miraculously appeared in his hands. It then vanished and reappeared in the tree right behind Tucker's head.

"Ah, fuck!"

_Freelancers are dicks._

**0000**

At the bottom of the mountain, just minutes from the outpost entrance, the rest of their companions were waiting for them. Tucker nodded at Caboose, telling him that Church had made it off okay. The poor guy had been missing Zeta, who was back in the AI containment unit with the other AIs, and Tucker felt a little bad for Caboose dealing with Church jumping off alone again.

In the firefight, Tucker was worried about what he was going to do about his team. Wash could take care of himself plus the others without any issue, but Caboose was always running into trouble on the field. Tucker had to make sure he kept the big guy in line, which was almost a full time job. Caboose seemed to be handling the situation well enough, though, so Tucker had to hope that he could at least focus on fighting any bad guys that came their way once they were in position.

O'Malley was lounging on one of the Warthogs, seemingly at ease and seemingly healthy. Tucker decided to take that as a good thing. Everyone else seemed nervous and jumpy.

"We movin' in?" Sarge asked, eager as always for battle. Grif let out a quiet groan as he loaded his rifle.

"Give it another five minutes," Wash said. "It'll take us less than a minute to converge on the gate. Church will send us a message as soon as he's gotten all the alarms offline."

"What's taking so long?" Simmons asked. "Shouldn't he be able to do that right away?"

"He is new at the robot thing," Grif said.

Sister hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe he can't figure out how to do stuff yet."

"He'll do it," Livingston said, sounding way too optimistic. "He's adjusting fine."

"He will be fine," Delta confirmed. "It is likely he is distracted by trying to figure out where the correct system is that he has to infiltrate."

"Or just distracted, because he's an idiot," Tucker offered. Grif snorted.

Wash thumped the side of the jeep with his fist, earning their attention. "Make sure we're all synced up," he said, using his _I'm In Charge_ voice that was generally hard to ignore. "Clocks set at 14:12. We're moving in at 14:17."

"Can I just say that I did and trust Simmons' clock?" Grif asked.

" _Now_ , Grif."

While Tucker appreciated the strictness in a way, since he knew they needed to be a little more coherent than they normally were during a fight, he groaned as he followed the order himself. It was easy enough to do, but he wasn't really in the mood to think about timing.

Delta apparently helped Livingston do her clock reset and Tucker contemplated the idea of ever taking on an AI for his own. He had Church as a stowaway, sure, but he didn't really want his best friend in his fucking head.

He looked over at O'Malley and shuddered.

Maybe no AI. He could handle setting his own clock.

"Hold on, my clock's being a pain," Iowa suddenly muttered. He tapped at the side of his helmet. "Fuck."

Wash glanced over at him. "What's wrong?"

"The HUD's been fritzing ever since I fell off that cliff in Valhalla," Iowa said, sounding irritated.

"You said you were fine," Livingston said, annoyed.

"My head was fine. The helmet took the beating."

Iowa took off his helmet, and instantly, his breath frosted in air. He began to fiddle with the interior of the helmet, grumbling while Simmons offered to help. Iowa reluctantly handed his helmet off and his gaze seemed to wander to the side.

Stopping dead in front of the Warthog, Iowa's eyes landed on Donut… who was leaning far too relaxed against the other Warthog. In the time that it took Tucker to realize something was off about Donut's body language, Iowa's expression had morphed into one of anger.

"Sigma, you weren't supposed to jump into Donut's body yet!" he said, causing Grif and Sister to jump in surprise at his volume.

Sigma, inside of Donut's body, snorted. " _When, then? In the middle of battle?_ " she asked. She waved a hand at him, dismissive. " _Spare me. I know how to manage a warzone, Freelancer. I will do as I see fit to ensure my part of this plan works._ "

Iowa's glare increased. "Sigma, I mean it. Back in his memory unit. Out of his head."

She didn't move. " _No_."

"We don't have time for this," Wash said, irritable. He holstered his pistol and grabbed another grenade from the crate on top of the Warthog. "Church is waiting for us."

"Just let her, it doesn't matter," Tucker said, frowning. It didn't matter to him any if Sigma was in there now. She was already loose and they needed her out there in a short time anyway.

"Sigma, I swear to fucking God," Iowa began, voice heated. "Don't be pulling this shit later. You _follow_ the plan."

Tucker turned to face the ex-Freelancer, mildly surprised. He knew they were all high-strung at that point, but damn, he hadn't seen Iowa that pissy before.

" _All you need to worry about is if you can keep up_ your _end of things_ ," Sigma replied, her borrowed voice barely sounding like Donut anymore. She sounded just as fake-nice as ever. It really did make Tucker's skin crawl. " _Do take care not to let Omega and Dr. Livingston be killed. I know it's difficult for you to ignore the opportunity to ruin_ their _day in particular_."

Whatever that meant, it was enough to make something dark and ugly pass over Iowa's face. "You can shut the fuck up now, Sigma, before I do it for you," he said, sounding strained.

Behind Wash, Caboose seemed to shrink a bit as the pressure suddenly escalated like ten times. Livingston made a sound of distress. Tucker found himself grasping at straws.

" _But why should I worry? I know. You're just following the plan. You're good at that_ ," Sigma continued, almost like she hadn't stopped to begin with.

Iowa was turning red and not from the cold. "Sigma, I swear to fucking God—"

" _Oh, because we_ all _know how well you follow_ orders!" Sigma said, singing it out with malice attached to each words. She suddenly pushed upright, fearlessly staring Iowa down with nothing but her venomous words. " _Except_ this _time, do try not to brutally torture Epsilon by accident as you did with the last AI you touched with your bare hands!_ "

It had been tense as hell before that exchange, but _holy fuck_ , Tucker thought.

Iowa just stood there, breathing heavily, his mouth drawn into a pale line as he glared so fiercely at Sigma, it was a miracle she hadn't spontaneously combusted. She stood there, posture tense and her fists clenched, as if overeager for a fight. Livingston was almost literally caught between them, her hands raised in some pathetic gesture to stop that building cloud of tension.

The simulation troops and Wash watched in silence. Tucker did his best to translate that latest meltdown and he was having trouble with it.

What did she mean by "last AI"?

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sarge asked, shooting a wild look between Sigma and Iowa and then to Livingston.

"Nothing," Livingston said, too quickly.

Wash was staring at her with open suspicion.

Tucker did not like how angry both Iowa and Sigma were. It was starting to _freak_ him out. "No, for real, what did she mean by that?" he asked. He looked over at Iowa. "I thought you were buddy-buddy with these things?"

"You were clearly mistaken with that assumption," Iowa snapped. He grabbed his helmet back from Simmons, who looked speechless. "I'm loyal to the AIs and to Ada's project. You don't have to worry about me not being loyal to the mission. Just don't think that I'm friends with ones like Sigma or—"

" _Oh?_ " Sigma interrupted, apparently not done having her little freak out. She laughed, the sound so bitter, it probably would have made Church jealous. " _Don't_ worry _? That's rich, coming from the man who allowed O'Malley to be placed into Xi in the first place._ "

If that last silence had been awkward, this one had been deadening.

Tucker's mouth dropped open to say something, but the train of thought he had sort of derailed and evaporated.

Iowa had… done it? He had been the one to….?

Iowa had gone so still, his helmet still in his hands, it was like he had been frozen solid by the ice.

Livingston had gone rigid, breathing in raspy gasps of air.

Sigma was practically radiating a mixture of anger and glee, as if she were proud of the bombshell she had just dropped.

"What?" Simmons asked, sounding winded.

Tucker's jaw almost didn't come back up. "Wait, you're the one who did that?" he asked, startled.

_Wait, wait, wait one fucking second_. Iowa was the one who did that to the Xi AI? He thought that Iowa was on the AIs' side. How the fuck—?

Livingston stepped forward, waving her hands, her movements jittery. "He made a mistake," she said, voice strangled, panicked. She kept glancing around, particularly at O'Malley and Sigma. "He—he helped us to escape, after realizing he had done it. He hadn't meant to do exactly that, with Xi."

"Ada," Iowa said, causing her to flinch. He had finally moved, no longer a statue. His expression was grim. "I'm not hiding from it. I fucked up. I followed one last directive from the Director, because that's what you _do_ , and I… I had no idea what it was. I thought it had just been a faulty unit to let Omega out." He exhaled sharply. "I fucked up."

That was one way to put it. Tucker was still trying to figure out how it was possible this had happened and they were working with the guy. Suddenly, all that mistrust they had in the unfamiliar ex-Freelancer was a lot more logical to keep around, at least to Tucker. He liked the idea of second chances and all, it was real romantic, but shit. After all that drama Livingston had made the Xi situation out to be, this had to be one hell of a secret to keep between them.

A stray thought hit him.

"Whoa." Tucker blinked several times before he turned and looked at O'Malley. "And why aren't you killing him?"

To everyone's utter surprise, O'Malley did not lash out with anger. He didn't look at Iowa. He instead turned his borrowed helmet to look directly at Tucker.

" _Why don't you ask Sigma?_ " O'Malley asked, sneering. He sounded the same, but…

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sarge asked, mirroring Tucker's confusion.

" _Be silent, Omega_ ," Sigma said, turning her anger towards him.

" _I'm not Omega anymore_ ," O'Malley said. He was still lounging on the Warthog, his pose utterly casual and lax, especially compared to how tense Sigma was now. " _Ohhh, what a world, if I am forced to agree with a lovesick little Freelancer like him over you, dear sister. How…ironic._ "

"Love doesn't make you sick," Caboose said, sounding concerned, but everyone ignored him.

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about?" Tucker asked, laughing. He had to, in order to ignore the chill that went down his spine.

These AI were so fucked up. He had no idea what they were talking about half the time and none of it seemed like good news.

"We don't have time for this," Iowa snapped. He looked back at Sigma-Donut. "Trust me or not, Sigma, I'm here to stay and I'm here to help."

" _I have no reason to trust the man who allowed one of my own to be brutalized like that_ ," Sigma spat.

Tucker was starting to get a little nervous about how tense she was. They didn't need another angry AI going crazy on them, not when they were about to go into a freaking battle. They needed to work together, damn it. Even Tucker could see that—

Iowa turned around, his face alight with a rage Tucker had never seen on that particular ex-Freelancer before. Everyone seemed surprised to see it, too. Sarge's hand went to his gun.

" _Funny_ you should be saying that, Sigma, when _you're_ the one who let me do that to him in the _first_ place!" Iowa said, his voice rising in volume as he seemed to loom over the pink armored AI.

Livingston gasped. "What?" she asked, startled.

Sigma was shaking with her own rage. " _Shut your mouth, Freelancer—!_ "

Iowa didn't let her continue. He took two dominating steps closer, dwarfing Donut mainly with his anger.

"You saw me walk in there, you were there watching, and you said you'd keep quiet in order to take advantage of Omega getting out!" Iowa said, his glare never faltering from Sigma's form, his words harsh and heated. "Neither of us knew it was Xi, but you— _you're_ just as guilty as I am!"

_What the fuck is going on? !_ Tucker thought, almost hysterical.

He tried to piece together a picture of what had happened. He had just pictured some weird lab where a bunch of people stood around and watched as O'Malley got transferred into the wrong unit. He hadn't even thought about how it could have gotten there or who had been there that he might have known.

How could Sigma have helped? She was just a bodiless robot. Tucker tried and failed to picture how she could have…

_You saw me—you were there watching—_

Tucker blinked several times. _Holy shit._

Iowa stood there in front of Sigma, shoulders heaving, but he just kept glaring. Sigma was no longer radiating aggression. She was suddenly so still, it was like she had frozen in time.

Next to Livingston, Delta was silent, glowing a steady green, as he regarded Iowa and then Sigma with calm indifference.

Livingston had swayed slightly in her spot as she turned slowly to face Sigma. Sigma, in Donut's body, had flinched under the new attention. Livingston just… stared at her.

"Sigma…" she began, voice wavering, "You aided Freelancer?"

Sigma practically howled, lashing back out into motion with a fury. " _I did not! I will_ never _help them!_ "

" _Don't lie!_ " Livingston exclaimed, causing both Tucker and Caboose to jump. Sigma fell silent, probably out of shock as well. Livingston still looked confused, but unfamiliar anger was beginning to filter into her voice as well. "Sigma, you tell me, _right now_ , what you have done. Is Iowa telling the truth? Did you—did you let him put the containment unit there and didn't _warn_ anyone? !"

"Guys, this is really not the time for this conversation," Simmons tried to say, but his meek criticism was drowned out by Sigma's unwavering rage.

" _I do what I must to ensure my—our—survival. The others have always been too weak. They will remain weak until we can become one again!_ " the AI snarled. She gestured at Ada. " _Don't_ patronize _me about_ betrayal _or lies. Not to me._ Never _to me!_ "

Wash suddenly crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "No wonder the other ones took O'Malley's side. You fucked O'Malley up," he said, not entirely sounding surprised.

She had let Iowa do it, Tucker thought, dazed. She had let him walk in there and set O'Malley up for a personalized Hell.

Had she expected it to be something else? Both of them had, apparently. She had tried to outwit the people outwitting her. And it failed.

It had failed spectacularly.

Sigma whirled around to face him. " _Shut up! I did nothing wrong!_ "

"Jason, why didn't you tell me?" Livingston asked, now shifting solidly into heartbroken as she turned to face Iowa.

Iowa's anger only barely lessened. "And what? Cause more drama?" he asked. He made a derisive sound. "Besides, I figured it'd come out eventually. After all, why would I still be alive? All the ones in charge, they all fucking knew it. The moment Delta told me he already knew, I had known they were all in cahoots, _especially_ when none of them tried to kill me in my sleep!"

Tucker realized he had a point. If the AIs had known about Iowa betraying them, he would have sworn Omega would have tried to get revenge immediately. Instead, the damaged AI had practically… ignored Iowa the whole, focusing his anger on Sigma or Wash, though it was for different reasons for Wash, obviously.

" _I should kill you_ ," Sigma said, her voice so venomous, Tucker wondered if it would poison Donut in the process.

"Try it, bitch," Iowa said. He inclined his head back towards the base, lifting his gun. "But first, I'm going to save your fucking brother, because unlike you, I don't _hide_ from my mistakes. I try to _fix_ them."

Delta suddenly flared red. "Incoming enemy signals detected, from the east," he said, jolting all of them out of the moment.

"Here we go!" Sarge suddenly barked, swinging his shotgun out, making several people jump.

"Shit," Wash said lowly, just as a group of four unknown soldiers walked out onto the path beyond the curve.

They probably had heard the shouting and came out to check as a patrol. Tucker could see they were UNSC soldiers, not Freelancers. They were all armed and seemed alarmed over the simulation soldiers and company being there.

Before Tucker could even throw out a sarcastic comment about being "new to the neighborhood," Sigma pushed by him as a blur of pink.

She reached the soldiers at the same time as O'Malley did. The purple armored AI had grabbed one of the soldiers by the neck and hurled him face first into the trunk of a nearby tree. Sigma kicked out, snagging another's ankle, yanking them forward just to be able to slam her fist straight through his visor, smashing the glass straight into his unprotected face. She let him drop before going for the man behind him who had tried to lift his gun.

It was a pointless gesture. The soldier was caught by three precise bullets that came from Wash's rifle, which he had out before Tucker had even considered the reality that maybe, they all should have been doing something instead of gawking.

When that guy went down, O'Malley had already gone for the last remaining soldier. He ducked smoothly under a clumsy attempt to strike him with the butt of his gun and proceeded to grab the man by his chest to bring down into his knee with a harsh thud. Releasing the man, O'Malley snarled when Sigma rudely slid in front of him to steal the spotlight. She punched the winded UNSC soldier several times, her movements a blur, before she ended it with one smoothly delivered roundhouse kick. The man went skidding across the snowy path.

There was silence, save for the guy by the tree, who was wheezing and trying to say something as he reached for his gun.

Iowa abruptly moved forward. As he passed by the twitching man by the tree, the ex-Freelancer stepped over him, shooting him casually in the head as he passed.

Tucker's eyes narrowed.

_Jesus. Fucking. Christ._

Everyone else hadn't moved either. They were all staring at the one-sided bloodbath and were probably thinking just the same. Livingston was crouched with the AI containment unit, her whole body tense, and clearly just as speechless as the rest were.

_Congrats, your babies are monsters_ , Tucker thought absently.

Not that Wash or Iowa were any better.

"You are all scary motherfuckers, I hope you realize that," Tucker said, aiming to sound breezy. He almost succeeded.

"Good," Wash snapped. He looked around them as he passed by them, marching up to the curve of the road without pause. "You all have your orders. Move into position and we break—"

He stopped when two more soldiers came stumbling out into the snow. Tucker's hands went to his rifle, but he stopped as everyone there seemed to take a second to catch up.

The UNSC soldiers there were gawking at them, clearly not expecting to see anyone out there, let alone nearly twenty unknowns.

One of the soldiers seemed to let his gaze drift downwards to the bodies of his fallen companions.

Tucker's grip on his gun tightened.

"Uh oh," Caboose whispered somewhere behind him.

"Who the fuck are you?" the soldier in front asked, sounding angry but understandably confused as he pointed his weapon at the crowd. He looked and sounded like a commander.

Tucker almost missed seeing Iowa and Wash glancing at each other, because it was such a quick motion. Wash stepped forward towards the armed soldiers, his posture at ease despite the fact the he had two guns pointed at him.

"Name's Washington," he said, raising his own pistol into the surprised UNSC commander's face. "You might have heard of me."

Tucker couldn't even bring himself to hate Wash for saying something so damn _lame_ —especially when all hell proceeded to break loose.

**End Chapter 19.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes according to plan—until they get their hands on that pesky little AI containment unit. Oh, SHIT.
> 
> **A/Ns:**  
>  -FINALLY ACTION I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO GET TO  
> -The _Mother of Invention_ – obviously the Freelancer command center got moved after the crash. From what I could piece together, the Sidewinder base could have been built around the crash, to salvage the ship's working parts. The map you see used at the end of _Revelation_ seems to indicate parts of the ship are in the ice cliffs, too. That's just part of my headcanon, though.  
>  -The confusion over Sidewinder being a planet (it's shown as a planet once or twice, but then the Reds and Blues can freaking _walk_ there?) is annoying. For the sake of this story and my sanity, Sidewinder is not a planet and merely part of the icy region of this moon. Ta-da.  
>  -This chapter reminded me that I don't really have too many POVs in this series, but honestly, it's saner this way aaand I'm too scared to write from the POV of characters like Caboose or Sarge haha. Whoops.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to raise some hell for once. I'm sure it's very therapeutic. We're officially halfway done the entire story! And boy, are things gonna start heating up.
> 
> I hate to leave you guys with a cliff hanger again, but reality has me over the coals right now. I have a very important exam coming up at the end of the month and I need to dedicate time to preparing for it, so I'm sort of going offline for a bit. **We'll return to normal updates on October 8!**
> 
> .  
>  Warnings: implied slash (parings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © RoosterTeeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.  
> .

"Fucking go!"

Grif's panicked scream punctuated the resulting cacophony of gunfire. Wash kept point with Sarge, firing at anything that moved their way out of the depths of the base they were charging boldly into.

That incoming team had been stationed at the gate, which had taken no time at all to reach and cross through. The compound had been adequately staffed, especially with so many incoming soldiers and scientists who had moved into the base during the snowstorm. Any scientists wouldn't take up a weapon would be ignored, at least by Wash, but any sign of a gun or aggression would not be taken lightly.

"Get that gate!" Wash shouted.

"It's locked down!" Simmons shouted back, standing by the control panel briefly as the door slammed shut with a haunting clang.

"The code has been changed," Delta said, speaking quickly from Ada's shoulder. "They will have difficulty breaking into the lock should they approach from this angle. This should give us adequate time to prepare for an assault or making our escape via this route."

"Good enough for me," Iowa said as they all continued at a brisk pace down the hall into the base.

Taking out that initial team had two side effects: it had sent most of their squad into a panic and a forced rush of adrenaline. Some like Sarge immediately wanted to barrel inside to blow the whole place up and some like Livingston had wanted to run the other way. Wash kept his gun pointed forward and marched into the base.

The gunfire had alerted any nearby soldiers down that hallway. One came around the corner, unprepared, and was taken down quickly by someone's shot from behind Wash. From there, it was a short stretch of gray tile and then they were in the atrium.

Inside there, a pile of crates being prepared for extraction were accompanied by two unarmored UNSC agents who looked like mere cargo workers. However, Wash watched as the more alert of the two reached for a pistol at his waist. Wash fired two concise shots, taking both men down. One went down with a yell. That would have to do.

Turning, Wash saw everyone rush into the room behind him. Iowa, Sarge, Tucker, and Sigma had the sense to rush in with their weapons raised to hunt for any more lurking enemies. The others fumbled and merely gawked at the violence they had probably not been prepared for.

They were going to unfortunately have to deal with more of it. Wash motioned with his hand high in the air as the approached one of the corridors that branched off of the atrium.

"This way to the motor pool!" he shouted, gesturing down the hallway towards the Reds. "Shoot anything that moves and watch your peripherals! If any of them get to a jeep or a tank—"

"We're fucked, yes, thank you, we needed the reminder," Grif shouted, annoyed as he and Sarge continued onwards down the hall. "Don't let my sister die, assholes!"

"And don't you die either, Dex!" Sister shot back.

Wash turned and pointed at the pink soldier stalking past him after the Reds. "Sigma, you keep them alive," he said, warning heavy in his voice.

" _Oh, yes, I have all the time in the world for_ baby-sitting," Sigma said, scathingly. She was reloading Donut's pistol and didn't stop as she moved down the same path the Reds had taken. " _Watch your own flock, Freelancer. I have larger concerns_."

"Fuckin' bitch," Wash muttered, glaring after her and the departing Red squad for one more second before he forced himself to pay attention to the Blues. He waved them towards the main hall. "Come on, let's move!"

"No alarms. You think Church did it?" Tucker asked, a little breathless as they approached the crates.

"We'll have to assume—," Wash began, but he cut himself off when he saw a flash of gray somewhere beyond Tucker's head. "Tucker, get down!"

He slammed into the teal soldier, knocking them both to the side behind one of the storage crates. Everyone yelled out and dove for cover as incoming bullets flew overhead. Livingston yelped and covered her head with her hands while O'Malley shouted something not too pleasant.

"Fuck!" Tucker yelled, having slid onto the floor from being pushed down. He scrambled to get back upright, taking cover behind the metal crate. "Where'd these guys come from? !"

Wash glanced over the edge and saw another batch of armed UNSC operatives. One of them wasn't in armor, but all of them had weapons out and were keen on using them.

"Interior soldiers responding to the noise," Iowa answered, readying his rifle. "Nothing we didn't plan for. Take 'em out!"

"Where are we taking them?" Caboose asked, legitimately concerned, and everyone ignored him.

The new group had the benefit of being upright and able to dodge behind the wall for cover while the Blues and Epsilon team had to keep peeking out from behind the crates. Wash waited between hailstorms of bullets, trying to keep count as the one with the pistol had to reload and he dared to whip upright, firing as precisely as he could. He caught the one without armor in the chest, the man going back with a startled, but short yelp.

Sister shrieked when a bullet grazed her shoulder and Wash grabbed her by the back of her armor to keep her down further under cover. Tucker cursed loudly and ducked on his own when he kept missing his target.

Iowa suddenly moved, throwing something in a long arc. "Grenade!" he shouted, hurling the dark orb straight at their opponents. Wash ducked lower.

The whole pile of crates shook and rattled when it went off. The UNSC soldiers yelled, but the gunfire stopped. Wash took that moment to breathe and then check on the Blues. They seemed intact, though Sister seemed a little bit more aware of the danger now.

"I think that's it for the interior," Iowa said, speaking loudly. "We should be clear to move in."

"I am not detecting any incoming hostile life forms from that direction," Delta added, unfazed by any of it as he hovered by Livingston's head. "There is motion coming from the east side of the base, however."

Somewhere, far off toward the Reds' location, there was the sound of more grenades.

"Straight back that way, on the left-hand side, there's the lab," Wash said, looking towards the back corridor, where Epsilon was waiting. "We have to—"

A flash made several of them wince, but to their relief, it was just their teammate returning. Church flared into life in the center of their circle behind the crates.

"Church!" Tucker yelled, angry. "You asshole, where were you? !"

Church hovered by the soldier's shoulder, flickering wildly. "Dude, I just came back from their lab center and what the _fuck_ , this place is _crazy_!" he exclaimed. "How many places did the Director put his bullshit science projects? !"

"What? !" Livingston asked, surprised. She was practically melded into the crate she was hiding behind.

Wash flinched as a stray bullet shot by his helmet. The east corridor was now responding to the noise, then.

"Incoming soldiers!" he shouted. He looked back to the Epsilon team. "Iowa, move it!"

"Roger!" Iowa said. He turned, trusting the Blues to give him cover fire, and he moved quickly to the edge of the crate. "Ada, with me! O'Malley, watch the rear. Keep your heads down!"

"R-right!" Livingston stammered, tripping over herself as she attempted to follow him.

Two more shots ricocheted off their crate. Wash dared to move up with his own rifle. "Move!" he bellowed.

Iowa rolled out, dragging Livingston by her shoulder on the other side of him. O'Malley snarled something that Wash didn't catch, but he followed immediately after them, turning to shoot at the incoming UNSC soldiers now bunkered down by the mouth of the east corridor. None of the shots hit a target, but it granted them enough time to run into the depths of the facility out of sight.

Wash exhaled lowly as the firefight continued. Tucker wasn't the greatest shot, but he was doing better than he normally would. Then again, it wasn't like they had had too much practice actually fighting for their lives in the last six months. It was possible Church was aiding him somehow, though Wash wasn't too enthusiastic about the Alpha's aiming capabilities.

Sister and Caboose were struggling to match that rapid fire, but both were ducking more than returning the fire. Wash had calculated on that, but he knew he had to pick up the slack, or those soldiers could get the upper hand quickly.

Bracing against the crate, Wash took a steadying breath. They had less than fifteen minutes now.

Buying them precious seconds would be the best contribution he could make.

"All right then," he said, picking out a target and aiming. "Let's start this."

**0000**

Why did they always get the motor pool duty?

Simmons had to admit, Red Team always did wind up with vehicle duty. Either driving or flying or acquiring—it was always them and the car. Or plane. Or in this case, a healthy mix of jeeps, motorbikes and one tank.

It was also somewhat disconcerting that out of all the duties applied to Simmons personally, he always got the rocket launcher.

Not that he was complaining.

He was just noting an odd sense of coincidence.

"Simmons!" Sarge bellowed the moment they were in line of sight of some very confused UNSC soldiers.

Simmons already had the launcher pointed and ready. "Firing, sir!"

They had barreled straight down the hallway, which turned into a ramp and led out to the hangar. It wasn't that large, but certainly larger than anything they had back at Valhalla. There were plenty of soldiers milling around, seemingly working on moving crates out on carts to get to the air strip just outside. There were maybe twenty soldiers total.

None of them had been prepared to see them. Maybe they hadn't heard the gunfire from inside. Clearly, Church had shut off the alarms, as he had promised. Simmons took it as serendipity, especially when that gave them at least half a second advantage as several more aware soldiers reached for their guns.

They couldn't out-move a rocket, however. Simmons knew that as a fact.

He fired at their feet. He didn't really want to full out murder a bunch of people; if he could get away with injuring them, that would be better for his conscience.

Then again, they had gone for their weapons. Or they had for a second, before the rocket exploded at their feet and sent them flying with a yell. Simmons had miscalculated and the rocket had also managed to catch one of the motorcycles parked nearby in the backlash. The vehicle was sent hurtling forward and crashed straight into a line of men who had gone to rush up towards them.

 _Whoops_ , Simmons thought.

"Holy shit!" Grif cried, laughing. He sounded impressed. "Wow, that was pretty awesome."

Simmons beamed, reloading the rocket launcher. "Thanks!"

Their momentary glee over being ahead of the curve for once—and _man_ , was it rare that they were the ones who were storming a base with element of surprise on their side—faded when a flash of pink invaded Simmons' vision.

" _Move it, humans!_ " Sigma suddenly yelled. She pointed out towards the center of the room. " _Tank_!"

"Wha—oh shit!" Grif yelled, spotting a man getting into the front of the tank just fifty meters in front of them. "Simmons, rocket launcher, NOW!"

"On it!" the maroon soldier yelped, lifting the weapon onto his shoulder again.

He wanted to dive out of the way like Grif and Sarge did when the guy slid into the seat. They had faced down tanks before. Angry tanks. Tanks were not the friendliest nemesis to confront. Simmons held his ground however and tried to aim directly at the one place that probably would help the most: right at the driver.

Simmons grunted when the second shot threw him backwards; the torque always felt worse and stronger the more times he fired. That's what made his aim off, he decided, when the rocket didn't quite make it where he intended it to go.

It veered upwards, hitting just beyond where the driver was trying to sit down. It took the driver's cover clear off and the man screamed, probably getting a lot of frag and shrapnel.

Before Simmons could think about reloading to try again, in case the man could still work the tank, he saw Sigma raise her rifle and methodically shoot the driver with three concise shots. He flopped over and didn't move.

"Whoa." Simmons blinked twice. "That was too easy."

"Move your tail feathers, gentlemen!" Sarge shouted. "And lady! Lady-Donut!"

Sigma's distaste was practically palpable as she raised her gun to skillfully take out another soldier who came into view. " _Ugh_."

By that time, they had certainly gotten everyone's attention in the hangar and outside. Simmons tried to re-load, but was forced to dive for the tank for cover with a yelp when bullets started to fire his way.

Apparently, the soldiers at that base were kinda pissed. There were a lot more than Simmons had expected to fit at the outpost. It seemed really weird, but maybe they were just there because of the Epsilon thing. Simmons could imagine the UNSC really trying to make sure they didn't mess up again with the AI in their custody.

Too bad they hadn't planned on the simulation soldiers being that stupid to invade them, Simmons thought airily as he hastily shoved another canister into the rocket. He only had two left.

The men that had come in from outside were all yelling and firing at them. Confusion over who had attacked them probably had faded at that point, being replaced by the natural stance of, Shoot first, ask questions later.

"Is that all of them? !" Grif asked, shouting over the gunfire. The tank's smoldering frame provided them great coverage.

" _No, there are more out on the tarmac_!" Sigma replied. She was all business, which was odd coming from Donut's body and mouth. " _Take position!_ "

There was no arguing with that.

Sigma was a true force of nature, with a gun or with her physical prowess. Donut had always been in pretty good shape, but it was still weird watching his body break other soldiers practically in half with roundhouse kicks and lightening-quick jabs. Simmons had no idea how AIs worked, in terms of their skills, but he figured she had picked up plenty of useful techniques from the different Freelancers she had connected with. Maine came readily to mind, he thought with a shudder.

It was probably because she was there to do a lot of the physical damages to the soldiers firing at them, but Simmons took minor pride in the fact that it was because of the Red team that the soldiers weren't prepared for her to barge into their ranks like that. Simmons took up a regular assault rifle to help Grif shoot at the incoming soldiers. The tank let them get great shots while being better covered than the soldiers rushing up from the mouth of the hangar.

It was weird, Simmons thought as he got used to the rhythmic firing and sounds of people screaming. It almost seemed like they were _winning_.

"Simmons, get that platoon!" Sarge ordered suddenly.

There was a group of soldiers who had managed to take cover behind one of the remaining jeeps. They were also enjoying the coverage from the vehicle they were ducking behind. It was drawing out the fight longer than it had been going before.

There weren't a lot of options available to him. They'd be losing a jeep, but Simmons would have rather had the fighting end sooner than anything else.

After picking the rocket launcher back up, Simmons bit his lip and aimed for the front of the jeep. With Grif and Sigma providing cover fire, Simmons stepped out further and fired.

The rocket soared across the smoke-filled hangar with deadly accuracy. It was probably the best shot he had ever taken.

It was hard to feel proud when the Warthog exploded into a violent cloud of fire and smoke, resulting in the four men positioned behind it screaming as they took the brunt of the explosion. But it was rather nice to take credit for knocking them out from cover and allowing for an end to the fight.

Sigma and Grif blasted the remaining group with gunfire. The soldiers who hadn't been killed right away didn't stand a chance.

Simmons sank back on his haunches and waited. Sigma and Grif eventually stopped and Sarge took a dominating step out from behind the tank.

The sounds of the guns going off echoed terribly in the hangar, but slowly, as they all stood tense and waiting, the sounds died off.

They were left with stillness and silence, excepted for their ragged breathing.

Simmons had to blink several times as the reality of it all sunk in.

"…was that all of them?" he dared to ask.

Did they really just…win?

Against an entire hangar full of soldiers?

" _Let's hope none of them are hiding else where_ ," Sigma answered. She slowly peered around the open, still tarmac. " _I am not detecting any motion on the tracker._ "

"Good," Grif said, deciding it was the proper time to collapse against the side of the tank with a dramatic groan.

Simmons let out a quiet sigh as he almost gave in and did the same thing. He couldn't believe they had actually managed to do that and survive. None of them had taken any bad hits. It seemed almost absurd.

 _Holy shit_ , he thought, not displeased in the least.

Peering around, he saw that there was still a motorbike by the corner that didn't look damaged. It was only one bike, but it was still better than nothing. He wondered if it could get through the snow like the Warthogs.

His companions (well, Grif had moved to sit up on the tank) seemed to be looking around carefully as well. Simmons saw both Sigma and Sarge turn their attentions to the center of the hangar.

Sarge moved over next to the pile of crates the soldiers had been standing around. Simmons followed his commander over and peered at the unmarked boxes. It all looked like standard supply crates.

"What's all this?" Sarge asked, poking the pile of crates with his foot.

"Looks like the stuff they were going to ship out to the UNSC." Simmons froze. "Oh, shit, is Epsilon in here—?"

He peered down at the crates, not knowing how they could tell. If they had moved the AI out already, that could be a huge waste of time if they didn't call the other teams back there—

Sigma loomed next to him suddenly, causing him to jump. Sigma didn't pay him any mind. She was focused on the crates.

" _No, he is not_ ," she said. She sounded like she was scowling. " _This seems to be any miscellaneous items they had picked up at the site…_ "

She trailed off, her attention going to one of the open crates that hadn't been sealed yet. Simmons was wary of the AI as a default, but he was especially unnerved by how rigid her posture had gone as she took in whatever it was she was looking at.

Slowly, Simmons turned his head and looked at the crate. From his angle, he could barely make out what looked like a pile of metal and electronic devices. It all looked beat up, like it had been ripped apart or…

Simmons' eyes widened when he moved forward and suddenly got a better look inside the box.

The helmet rest on top of the debris was eerily familiar.

"Whoa," he said, stunned. "It's…Tex."

Or her helmet. The rest of her body could have been in there too. He remembered them going head to head with the AI fragment quite vividly back at that hidden compound and then seeing her motionless form after the Meta had trapped her in the memory unit. The gaping, violent hole in the visor was hard to miss.

" _Her shell_ ," Sigma said, correcting him. Her tone was cold. " _I had wondered how she had met her demise this time._ "

"We're about to meet our _own_ demise!" Grif suddenly yelled out, startling them. He was on one end of the tank, waving at them erratically. "Guys, come on!"

Simmons jolted to action, hurrying over to where Grif was. The orange soldier seemed nervous, but when Simmons looked out at the hangar, he didn't see anything.

"What in tarnation is your problem, Grif?" Sarge demanded, not seeing anything either. "All enemies dead and accounted for."

Grif did not seem to agree. "Sarge, _look_!" he called out, pointing.

Simmons followed the motion and it took his eyes beyond the tarmac. It took his eyes all the way up into the horizon, where there was just a hazy impression of shapes further down the canyon, through mist and wind-blown snow.

Somewhere beyond the white mist, Simmons saw a dark shape appearing off that horizon. It was coming closer, with startling speed.

If he wasn't mistaken, he thought it was a ship.

And it was headed right for them.

The Freelancer squad.

Sigma let out a low, dark sound.

"Well, shit," Sarge said.

Simmons gulped.

 _Well, shit_ , he echoed internally.

**0000**

Tucker had started his day feeling like he would hate his life by the end of the mission.

He hated being right, especially while being pinned down behind a bunch of crates while some big soldiers shot angrily at him and his friends.

"Fuck these guys, fuck you guys for coming up with this plan," the teal soldier was saying, feeling annoyed and a little panicked. "And fuck me for agreeing to come here."

Wash snorted, far more casual now that they were settling into a routine position. "Careful, if Donut were here, he'd be saying something, like 'well, if you're offering…'"

"Since when do you have a sense of humor, asshole?" Tucker snapped. He aimed and fired three shots, ducking before he could see if he actually hit anyone. "Does the threat of death bring out the snarky bitch in you?"

"Maybe it does," Wash replied, still sounding like he had the nerve to be smiling. "It keeps me young."

"Until a bullet gets lodged in your ageless face."

"Guys, seriously, this place is so weird," Church said, unfazed by anything going on around him. He sounded really… anxious as he hovered overhead. "There's like piles of, like, junk. But it's not junk."

"Huh?" Tucker asked, peering up at his friend.

Wash's humor vanished. "This is not the time, Church," he said curtly. He grunted when a bullet grazed his shoulder.

"For real!" the Alpha continued, sounding frazzled. "It was like all the robot rejects from the Director's private stash were dumped here."

"Robot rejects?" Sister asked, surprised. She had been keeping a low profile, but Tucker couldn't blame her. She was really out of her element here.

"Like what was back at that facility where Tex kicked our asses with the teleporters?" Tucker asked.

"Huh?" Church asked, surprised.

"Never mind, I forgot that was Epsilon and not you," Tucker said. He crouched to reload. "So, what, were they making a robot army?"

"No, just experimentation, most likely," Church replied. He shrugged, unaffected as another bullet went through his see-through form. "At least we can grab a body for the AIs now, for, you know, those of us who want bodies. If they're in working order."

Sister peered up at him. "That's a good thing?"

"That is _not_ a good thing!" Wash snapped. "Do _not_ tell Sigma!"

"She'll find out eventually," Church said, mumbling.

"That's an _order_ , Church!" the ex-Freelancer shouted, reloading.

The AI made a derisive sound. "Since when do you order me around, dude?"

"Church!"

"Hey, incoming," Church suddenly deadpanned. He flickered as he pointed out over the crates. "Dude's got a rocket launcher."

"Ah, fuck."

**0000**

Delta had not seen the last platoon of soldiers coming up from what appeared to be the lower section of the labs. Their movements had been hidden by the thick layer of concrete flooring. Iowa had reacted appropriately, getting O'Malley and Ada down under the cover of an abandoned lift machine in the middle of the hallway. They were just a hundred meters from the labs.

Iowa had taken point, as expected, but he was growing increasingly frustrated with their opponents, who were ducking into an empty storage closet.

" _Shoot them already, Freelancer!_ " O'Malley shouted.

"I don't see you helping, Omega!" Iowa shot back, angry.

" _In case you missed the memo, Freelancer, my host is a_ pacifist," O'Malley snarled; he made the word sound dirty. He reached back and fired a shot, but it missed in a huge arc, colliding with the beam above them. " _He can't aim a paper airplane, let alone a pistol!_ " Doc suddenly reemerged. "Heeey, that's not very nice. I take pride on not having firing skills—!"

"Jesus _Christ_ ," Iowa swore, ducking down in response to a sudden increase of enemy fire. "You could have mentioned that before we went off on our own!"

"Sorry, Iowa—," Doc began to say. O'Malley made a sharp sound. " _Augh, let's just move!_ "

Iowa began to return fire, his impatience growing. "We can't if there are guns pointed at us!"

If their current progress remained at the same rate, Delta predicted they would be able to move on within a minute and forty seconds. Iowa was a decent shot, but it was detrimental to only have one adequate soldier on their team. Once O'Malley could get close to their opponents, he could at least use brute strength. For now, Delta decided the delay would have to be acceptable. They were nearly to their objective.

Turning his attention back to his own host, Delta carefully kept a subroutine monitoring Ada's vitals. She was frightened, but kept her composure as well as ever under pressure.

"Well, this couldn't possibly get worse, right?" Ada said, her laugh strained. Her heartbeat was rapid, but not in a manner that suggested a medical threat.

"Our chances of success could statistically decrease due to a variety of circumstances," Delta replied, without missing a beat. He paused as he took in her expression and increased vitals. "…although, I suppose that is not what you want to hear right now."

"No, not really, Delta."

"Then, I am sure we will be fine, Ada."

A bullet embedded in the wall above her head. Flinching, Ada clutched the AI containment unit tighter. Delta continued to monitor the movements of their opponents and began to calculate the proper route to forward to Iowa.

**0000**

_Oh,_ man, Simmons thought in a haze of terror, they were so _fucked._

The incoming dark shape of a shuttle was coming closer and closer to their location. He had no idea if any of the soldiers at the outpost had managed to send out any outgoing radio warnings. It was unlikely, but that didn't matter. It wouldn't take Freelancers or other UNSC soldiers really long to figure out something was really wrong.

_They were so fucked._

"What should we do? !" Grif exclaimed. "That has to be the Freelancers!"

Simmons gripped the sides of his helmet in distress. "Damn it, I don't know!"

"We don't have a choice," Sarge said, grim. "Fight and die holding our position, like men."

"We should go back and regroup with the others!" Simmons said. "Sir, we can't hold these guys off for very long!"

They only had four fighters there. Most of their ammo was spent already. If they regrouped back with Wash's group, maybe they'd have a better chance. If the others were done with getting Epsilon, maybe they could have just left.

The radio silence on the side of the Epsilon team was not encouraging that they had accomplished the objective yet. Church was relaying constant information to their radios about the different times the other teams got into a firefight and when they got out of one, but there was no mention of success yet.

Simmons couldn't breathe, he was so scared. They had to get out of there, ASAP, before it was too late to run—!

Turning, he meant to ask Sigma if she had any bright ideas, since she was being so quiet. She was crafty. That was the point of her whole existence, right? Surely, she could come up with a…

Simmons stopped when he realized Sigma had gone very still, while the humans around her panicked openly.

"Sigma?" he asked, surprised.

She was staring down the hangar, but abruptly turned, the motion sharp and dangerous. " _Shut the hangar bay doors_ ," she ordered, looking to Grif.

Sarge grunted. "They'll be able to blast it open in no time," he warned.

" _Exactly_ ," she said, coolly. She then pointed to the side. " _So, let's give them a surprise, for being so rude to show up so early._ "

At first, Simmons had no idea what she was talking about.

Then, he followed her pointing finger to the side, past a bunch of dead soldiers. It led their gazes straight to a pile of boxes he hadn't noticed before. There were stark yellow notices all over the boxes.

They were explosives, he realized. For excavation. Probably scientific excavations.

Slowly, he looked back up at Sigma and then Sarge, who was also staring at the boxes.

Sarge only took a few more seconds to digest what was being suggested to him.

"…I like the way you think, Lady-Donut," he finally said.

They could practically _feel_ Sigma's grin.

"I'm on the doors," Grif blurted out, hurrying over to the control panel for the hangar bay doors.

"I'll help with the charges!" Simmons added, scrambling for the boxes with Sarge quick on his heels.

This could work.

He just hoped they had enough time.

**0000**

They were so close to Epsilon, it was almost sickening to think they weren't already there.

Ada had done her best to stay out of the way as Iowa and O'Malley did their jobs at knocking out, wounding or killing any soldiers that came their way. Most of them had been defeated quickly, but it had taken them far too long to get rid of that one group that had taken up in the labs.

After what seemed like an hour, they were all on the ground. Ada did her best not to think about the permanence of it all.

They were almost there…!

"There are no more incoming soldiers on radar," Delta said, still severely business-like. It was somewhat grounding to hear his cool, logical approach in the midst of the adrenaline rushes. "There are still humans present in the labs, but they are merely scientists."

They were _so close._

"He's right down there!" Ada said, pointing down the hall. She could just make out a flash of windows and a t-section that must have branched off into the furthermost section of the labs.

"Alrighty," Iowa said. He was walking backwards, run raised to take down anyone who followed. "Ada, go, go go—!"

He didn't have to encourage her. Ada trusted Delta's judgment and Iowa's own call. She took off in a run down the hallway, toward the back of the labs. Delta had mentioned that the lab they wanted would likely be the largest, towards the back. It was most protected and isolated.

They were already behind schedule. She knew she couldn't worry about the clock, but with every second that ticked by on her HUD's screen, she felt an increased amount of dread.

They could do this. She just had to hurry.

She flinched when a purple body suddenly joined her as she ran. She couldn't move that quickly, but it was startling to suddenly have a companion.

It was O'Malley, which was no surprise. He continued to seem rather at ease with the whole situation, when they weren't in the direct line of fire.

" _You certainly don't have exceptional self-preservation habits, doctor, if you're just running blindly into the unknown_ ," he said, effortlessly. Doc certainly was in shape, comparatively to many of the other simulation soldiers. Probably compared to Ada as well.

"That's why you're here," she replied, sighing as they ran. She pointed at the next corner, where Delta had directed her earlier. "There!"

A flash of dark color and motion caught her eye a second before she actually realized what it was. As they crossed in front of the last lab before the junction in the corridor, a man with a gun stepped out nearly right into Ada.

Both had been startled, but it was the man who fumbled with his weapon. "Freeze!" he shouted.

Ada felt the blood from her face drain as she took in the sight of the weapon pointed at her. " _Oh_ —!"

Delta shouted something (probably _"Alarm! Enemy forces detected!"_ ) right in her ears, but Ada was too focused on that black barrel of the rifle. She knew she probably should have done something more than stumble backwards on the ball of her feet, gracelessly trying to get out of the way. It was like her body was suddenly uncoordinated and unresponsive.

_Duck, duck, get out of the way—!_

She didn't get out of the line of fire. There was no way she could have, with such poor reaction time. However, Ada was grateful she had not been alone in that branch of the hallway.

O'Malley had snarled something ugly the moment the man emerged from the room. The enemy soldier had probably been just as shocked to see them coming that way as they had been by his appearance, but nothing could have prepared the poor man for O'Malley.

The gun went off, but the aim had been disrupted by O'Malley's swinging arm. It caught the man's forward arm, bending it downwards. Ada watched as O'Malley brought his knee up to slam into the man's chest. The soldiers here didn't have nearly as much protective armor as the simulation soldiers or Freelancers had, so the blow seemed to be devastating. The man made a strangled sound as O'Malley grabbed him by the neck and threw him bodily down the hall.

Ada had fallen over when O'Malley pushed past her—or rather, had shoved her back—and as she spun around to see where the man had gone, she flinched at the cracking of two shots.

Iowa stood there, gun pointed deliberately at the downed UNSC soldier he had just shot. His posture was rigid.

"You okay, Liv?" he asked, looking down at her. He sounded strained.

Ada nodded, catching her breath. "Just…wonderful," she said, getting to her feet on trembling legs.

"She is unharmed," Delta added, voicing what she didn't. He seemed a little agitated. "We're clear. I apologize, Ada. I did not pick up this man's presence on your radar. He had not been moving until just now."

Ada nodded. "It's okay, Delta." They were okay. That's what mattered.

Suddenly, a low explosive sound rippled across the building. Ada looked up sharply, afraid to look back down the way they came. There was no movement, but the echoing sound of an explosion

"What the fuck was that?" Iowa asked, alarmed. He touched the side of his helmet radio. "A and B Teams, what was that? Do you read me?"

"Sigma is reporting that they had used explosives against an incoming force," Delta said. He sounded displeased. "It has bought them time, but they are still under fire."

"Go on then," Iowa said, nodding them forward as he turned to watch their backs.

Ada reached to pat the containment unit on her back, just to make sure, before she set her sights on the end of the hallway, at the junction. O'Malley had waited for her to move and walked briskly next to her. She tried to keep his pace.

"Thank you, O'Malley," she said, as they walked forward.

O'Malley let out a low chuckle. " _Learn to duck faster, doctor_ ," he said, sounding taunting. He glanced at her. " _Or to use a weapon_."

Ada grimaced. "I'd prefer not to."

" _As if the universe cares if you prefer it_ ," he said, probably grinning. He suddenly stopped at the edge of the corner they were reaching and let out another low chuckle. " _Oh, look, more cattle_."

Warily, Ada leaned around his shoulder to peer down the hallway. There were three people—two men, one woman—all dressed in standard science regiment gear. They were huddled by the opening of another lab and none of them were armed. They all looked terrified at the sight of O'Malley and Ada standing there.

Before O'Malley could move forward toward them—and Ada saw how his hands twitched for his gun—she moved up.

"They're just scientists, O'Malley," she said quietly. Turning, Ada lifted her chin and tried to sound more like a soldier than a civilian. "You should leave now if you want to live."

Hilariously, they seemed to take her seriously. The one in front looked downright green in the face.

"L-leave where?" he stammered.

Stomping around the corner, Iowa had his gun trained on them, making all three scientists jump.

"Downstairs, now," he snapped. He gestured with the rifle towards the stairs that led downstairs. "Fucking move it!"

The poor scientists all yelped and scrambled to follow the order. Ada felt vaguely bad for them, but after being shot at for the last twenty minutes by their friends, she was a little less sympathetic than she normally was. She hoped she wouldn't feel it more strongly later, after the adrenaline faded.

After watching the UNSC scientists duck down the sloped staircase, Iowa turned back to the hallway they were in. It led to a dead end, just beyond the stairs, but next to Ada and O'Malley was a yawning opening that led to another lab.

"Is this the place?" Iowa asked.

"Affirmative," Delta said as he and Ada moved into the room, Ada walking carefully. "Epsilon is here."

Ada looked around, trying to see as much of the room as possible. "Where…oh."

The room was larger than the other labs they had passed, but it was dominated by two long tables and a wall made up of what looked like one massive computer server. Ada had no idea what they had been doing there at Outpost 93, but she wasn't there to investigate that part of the lab.

Delta didn't need to say anything and neither did O'Malley; she saw it right away when her eyes went to the large console sticking out from the wall. It was tall, reaching all the way to the ceiling, and had three separate screens facing outwards from it.

Dead center on the gray tower was a blue-colored extension that had a faint glow to its lower lights. It _thrummed_ at a different frequency than the rest of the machinery.

Ada stepped forward, heart pounding.

"There you are, Epsilon," she said, breathless. She touched the blue box gently. "We're getting you out of here."

**0000**

Their advantage of surprise had dissolved fifteen minutes ago.

It helped that they had taken out what seemed like most of the base. Anyone who hadn't responded were probably scientists or civilians. Tucker tried to focus on that as a positive aspect of their situation.

Their side of the base battle had finally died out when Wash got the last dude. It had taken them forever, since both sides were smart enough to spend most of the fight hiding when the other side took their turn firing over their cover. It was sort of ridiculous to Tucker, but the rush of danger of having bullets coming his way had muted the sarcastic commentary.

They had survived it okay. Sister was still pretty frazzled and Caboose wasn't any better. Tucker had almost taken a bullet to the helmet once, but he had ducked in time and he didn't think anyone else had seen it. Wash had a few scrapes, but other than dinged armor, they had been okay by the time they realized they had finally won their side of the fight.

There had been a really big explosion. Like, really fucking big. Tucker had expected the worst, like the Director having nuked the place, but they were all still standing, more or less.

"What's that noise?" he asked, almost afraid to.

"Incoming soldiers, from Team A's position," Church answered. He sounded unhappy. "Looks like they're making a break for it."

"Who, the Reds?" Wash asked, more alert. He crouched higher, as if ready to stand.

"Yeah, but—," Church said, but he cut himself off as he suddenly flashed red, his attention somewhere beyond the crate. "Oh shit, dead guy's not dead! Wash, move—!"

Apparently, one of the dead guys on the floor wasn't dead enough not to take his gun back and fire at them. Tucker's heart leapt straight into his throat when he saw Wash take a hit straight in the upper left arm.

" _Ah_!"

The ex-Freelancer slammed to the side, crashing into one of the other crates. Tucker saw a flash of blood.

"Wash!" Tucker yelled.

"Agent Washington!" Caboose cried out.

"Oh, crap!" Sister screamed, flailing backwards as Wash collapsed to the floor.

Any panic the Blues were feeling probably was mutual for Church, but the AI seemed to be a little bit more collected than they were.

"Tucker, return fire!" Church shouted, as the dead guy and one of his friends continued to shoot at them. "Now!"

Despite grabbing his gun, Tucker's attention was torn between the incoming fire and his teammate on the ground. "Wash just got—!"

"Now, Tucker!" the AI shouted. He hovered so closely, the ghostly white light was practically in Tucker's vision. "I'll guide you, just fucking shoot!"

What seemed like a dozen bright lights lit up on Tucker's HUD, even as he opened fire on the remaining soldiers. What did they even mean? !

"I am shooting, you bitch!" he shouted back. "And I don't think you aiming for me is the best plan!"

"Just _fire_!"

He did. He didn't understand how or if Church was actually helping him, but Tucker could only focus on aiming the gun on his own. He was so panicked, he practically threw himself over the barrier to send a wave of bullets at the two guys. In hindsight, that had been the dumbest thing to do, since he was exposed that way to their bullets, but luck was on his side that morning.

The first dude who had been trying to stand was hit and Tucker couldn't even count how many times. He went down with a dramatic cry, nearly into his friend, who had managed to get to his feet. Tucker knew the remaining soldier was aiming for him—and probably had a damn good shot at it too—but just as Tucker meant to take his finger off the trigger in some automatic response, he found that he couldn't.

Maybe it was Church. Under normal situations, Tucker would have yelled at his friend for overstepping his boundaries. Friends just didn't possess friends.

But at the time, it probably saved his life. His finger didn't release from the trigger and the barrel seemed to be pointed just in the right manner to send those bullets straight at the remaining guy.

Tucker forgot to breathe up until the soldier went flying back, silent unlike his friend, and collapsed onto the floor. Blood had flown out in an arc and the moment he was down, Tucker could release the trigger.

Silence reigned.

Tucker took a deep breath.

Next to his head, Church seemed to do the same, if only in a forced, virtual manner.

"Jesus…" Tucker muttered, feeling the adrenaline rush a bit too strongly now. His arms were shaking.

Slowly, scanning the room, Tucker confirmed for himself that they were finally alone. All the soldiers from the east side had apparently either went somewhere else or were dead.

Turning, Tucker still didn't stand up as he crouched over Sister's legs to get over to Wash, who was still on the ground but he was thankfully moving.

"Wash, dude, speak to me," Tucker said, heart still pounding.

"I'm…fine," the ex-Freelancer said, exhaling sharply as he attempted to sit upright. His right hand shakily went to his left arm. "Just my shoulder."

Tucker glared at him. "Just your shoulder. Right. I forgot, you have a spare."

"Sh-shut up," Wash said, through gritted teeth.

Church hovered closer. "Your vitals aren't totally fucked. You'll live," he said. He paused. "If you stop the bleeding. You still have that healing unit?"

"No. Never got that back from the UNSC after my stint in prison," Wash said, finally getting high enough to rest against the crate.

Church made a low noise. "Well, that sucks. Still, you're _probably_ not going to die."

"Awesome," Tucker muttered.

The room was devoid of life, besides them, at that point. The silence was punctuated by the sound of distant fighting. It was eerie.

"N-now what?" Sister asked, daring to sit up properly now that their section was quiet.

"We should go back and help the Reds," Wash said. His attempt to stand was aborted as he flopped back in pain. "Fuck!"

Tucker scowled. "Wash, don't move."

"Fuck," Wash repeated. He suddenly froze, his eyes down the main corridor Team A had gone down. "Oh, hell."

Tucker froze at the sound of gunfire down the hallway. They had been hearing it that whole time. Now that the base was quiet, it echoed a lot more prominently, but now… it seemed louder.

And closer.

"I don't think that's all the Reds firing," Tucker said, swallowing hard.

"No, I don't think it's just the Reds," Wash confirmed, grim as ever.

That…was really bad news.

Tucker realized then that they were going to be fucking screwed if they were facing an armada of Freelancers or even regular UNSC soldiers. They'd be boxed into that stupid stretch of hallways and labs. If they found out about that side entrance, either to blast it open or to wait outside for them, they were fucking done.

They had to leave. Now. Tucker felt a surge of panic as he stood, unable to tear his eyes away from the hallway where he could hear Simmons screaming something indistinct.

Their main escape plan had been to either get back to their own jeeps or steal some new ones at the motor pool. That obviously wasn't going to work anymore.

 _Fuuuuck_ , he thought, heart pounding almost painfully fast now.

Wash seemed to be thinking those same lines of thought, except he handled it a bit more professionally than Tucker was at that point.

"Move down! Move down!" he shouted, voice tinged with pain, but he was controlling it better now. "We're over our time limit, people. Where the fuck is the Epsilon team?"

"They've having problems," Church said, relaying the information quickly between the teams the entire time. He didn't have to breathe, but he almost seemed breathless. "The Reds are coming back in, they're under fire, but the Epsilon team needs more time!"

"We don't have any!" Wash shouted.

Church suddenly went reddish again. "The Reds are bringing in another squad on their tails," he said. "Oh, shit, everybody get ready to move! They'll be here in, like, a minute!"

"Fuck!" Wash cursed loudly. He looked around quickly before looking back up at Tucker next to him. "All right, move back to the labs. Tucker, go, tell them we're headed back to them."

"I already did that," Church snapped. "They're hurrying, Wash, but Ada's having problems with the computer—"

" _Gah_ ," Wash suddenly hissed as he stood up. He grasped his left shoulder, pained. "Damn it."

"Wash!" Tucker shouted. He leaned down and grabbed Wash's good arm to haul him up. "Jesus, come on, dude. I got you."

Wash grunted, but didn't push him off. He turned his head back towards the others. "Let's go!" he shouted. "Sister, move it!"

"My brother's right there!" Sister exclaimed, pointing back down the main hall. Several red-themed soldiers were running towards them at break-neck speeds. "Dex! Hurry up!"

Tucker didn't have time to see if all of the Reds were coming along with them. He had to trust that Church would have heard about one of them getting hurt earlier. For now, they had to _move_.

It felt wrong to move back towards the labs, where there were no exits and they'd be trapped with the incoming soldiers headed their way. He had to trust that Wash knew what he was doing. They hauled ass as quickly as they could, Wash keeping up remarkably well despite sounding like he was hurting bad. Tucker focused on reaching the labs. They sidestepped more than a few dead guys on the floor.

Caboose was right beside him, clearly scared, and Tucker lost sight of Sister. He hoped she was right behind them.

Suddenly, around a corner, O'Malley came peeling out. He ran past them, growling something, and seemed to be focused on what they were running from. Wash tried to stop, but Tucker pushed him forward. They didn't have time. If O'Malley was going to be helping to give them cover, fine.

Around the corner, Tucker could see the labs clearly, with the big white walls and the huge windows that lined most of them. It was a shitty place for a firefight, but the big one in the back seemed to have fewer windows. It was there that he saw Iowa peeking around.

"Come on!" the other ex-Freelancer shouted, waving them forward.

Somewhere behind them, Tucker heard more gunfire. _Fuuuuck_.

Just a few seconds from the door, Sigma came rushing in, skidding to a stop beyond the threshold. She ducked to the side as Wash and Tucker hobbled through. Iowa was keeping point at the door.

"Did you see O'Malley?" he asked, keeping his weapon and gaze out the door. "He's going to help the Reds."

"How philanthropic of him," Wash grunted.

On the floor in the corner by a huge wall of computers, Livingston was pulling parts of the biggest computer away. Dead center on the console was a blue box that must have been the containment unit, even if it did catch Tucker's eye in a weird way. He didn't have time or the patience to analyze it.

Iowa let them pass, returning fire quickly as their pursuers finally got closer. That corner was only going to give them so much cover.

"So, yeah, thanks for joining us," the ex-Freelancer said, with false cheer. "We were having a quiet little party in here and it was starting to get boring."

"Assholes!" Tucker shouted, letting Wash's arm down the moment they were behind the cover of the wall. "What's the hold up? !"

"Tech issues," Iowa grunted as he bent to reload his rifle. He froze when he saw Wash leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. "Washington, you're bleeding."

Wash was leaning against the wall, retrieving another magazine from his hip storage with only one arm, his other dangling at his side. "I'll live," he said, gruff. "We'll keep the cover up. Do you have him out yet?"

Livingston glanced back at them, her body language and voice clearly revealing how nervous she was. "I'm—trying," she said. By her legs was the big AI containment unit she had hauled with them and on the computer was the Epsilon unit. "It's like they welded the bloody thing to the computer console. I don't even know if this is a transport unit!"

"Well, figure it out faster, lady," Tucker said, impatient. "We're sitting ducks in here if they have more guys than we counted."

"What was that explosion earlier?" Iowa asked. Shouting down the hall made Tucker flinch.

Sigma glanced up at him from her kneeling position as she crouched by the doorway. " _Freelancers blew up the hangar bay doors_."

Iowa sputtered. "They blew it up? !"

" _Well, we may have aided them by attaching explosives to the doors prior to their approach_ ," Sigma said, far too lightly.

"Oh. That's great," Iowa muttered.

"Then who the fuck is firing at us, if you blew them all up?" Tucker demanded.

"It appears to be another platoon that managed to escape the explosion," Delta answered, still by Livingston's shoulders. "They should be the last immediate obstacle."

"Great," Iowa said. He sighed as a repeating, loud sound took over the hallway. "They have a machine gun."

Caboose hummed thoughtfully. "At least it's the last machine gun, though, right?"

"Shut up, Caboose," Church said, sighing.

It was more concerning that there were only those people in the labs. Where had the rest of their teams gone?

"Where are the Reds and—where did Sister go?" Tucker asked, peering around the edge of the doorway. He flinched backwards when he heard, rather than saw, gunfire.

"They seem to have stayed back to try to keep our fellow guests further down the hall," Iowa said, nodding with his head towards the position the Reds were holding. "They're keeping inside the other doorways for cover. They should have enough grenades to last us."

"At least O'Malley won't have to aim as precisely with a grenade," Wash muttered. He groaned and pushed himself up on the wall instead of standing upright. "Five more minutes and we'll have a big problem."

"Shit, do you need Doc?" Tucker asked, concerned.

"I can wait," Wash said, grim. He cursed when the machine gunfire seemed to get closer. It slammed into the steel walls that acted as the only separation between them and their enemies. "Keep up the cover fire! They're moving back!"

Iowa made a low sound. "Damn it!" He took point at the doorway again.

Further away, Tucker could hear Simmons and Grif yelling things. Then, out of no where, Sarge came sliding into the doorway, looking a little hassled, but not injured again.

"Get the stupid golf ball and let's go!" the Red sergeant shouted as the gunfire got closer. "My men are about to become Swiss cheese!"

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!" Livingston cried. She yanked hard on the one panel, falling forward slightly when it came off. She scrambled to pull forward a bundle of wires. " _Damn it_ , it's connected to this machine. I need to disconnect it—"

That _something_ about the blue containment unit on the wall finally seemed to click in Tucker's mind. He moved over, palms feeling sweaty under his Kevlar gloves as he held his well-used rifle closer to his chest, and he stood over her as the doctor worked furiously.

Tucker's eyes narrowed further as he peered at the machine. "Wait, that's not it," he said.

Livingston looked up at him at an awkward angle, her shoulder halfway into the computer. "What?"

"That's not the capture device Epsilon jumped into," Tucker said, feeling a little wary.

He had jumped into that weird purple thing. He hadn't been around when they first grabbed Epsilon from the Freelancer Command Center on the other side of the moon, but he had seen it at Sandtrap and then again at Sidewinder. The blue box attached to the computer console was definitely not the right shape or size.

His confusion seemed to baffle Livingston. "Then—what is this?" she asked. She suddenly surged forward physically, scooting over to move in front of the blue device. "They probably just moved him into this device. Just give me a few more minutes and I can probably disengage it from the main—"

Wash leaned back into view, hurried. "Forget about disconnecting it! Epsilon can jump—," he said.

" _What_? !" Iowa shouted over the gunfire.

"—so just hit the escape button and he can jump into one of our suits!" Wash concluded.

"Is that safe?" Iowa asked, sounding more angry than unsure. "I thought Epsilon was crazy!"

"He's not! He's just like Church now!" Caboose said, cheerful.

"Um, excuse me?" Church asked, sounding insulted.

Tucker flinched when a bullet suddenly flew through the open doorway. "Just let him out before we all get fucking killed!" he said.

"I'm releasing him now!" Livingston said, grabbed the blue containment unit and began to hit several buttons.

Tucker heard Grif and Simmons shouting over the comm. channel. They were out of grenades and had to push back. The dude with the machine gun was literally blowing open their cover. He couldn't even imagine how they could get out of this one. Maybe if they all opened fire at once at the dude, someone would get a headshot. That meant that they'd take heavy casualties on their side, however, just to get that one shot. That wouldn't work.

Wash lifted his gun, seemingly in pain but that didn't stop him. Tucker tried to mimic him, but he could barely get his weapon high enough for it to count.

This was _bad_ —

"He's online and unlocked!" Livingston yelled. She sat up to grasp the blue containment unit on the wall, speaking to it directly. "Epsilon, my name is Dr. Ada Livingston. I've come with Agent Washington and the Reds and Blues of Valhalla! We're here to help you! You need to come out of this unit, now. We are under fire and we need to—!"

"Fuck!" Iowa shouted when a huge arc of bullets seemed to slip by the protruding wall outside and hit the inside of the labs. Tucker and Caboose flew backwards, yelping, and Sigma hissed lowly as she held up her last grenade.

"Epsilon, you need to come out of there, now!" Livingston said, almost pleading.

" _Do_ it, Epsilon!" Church suddenly shouted, looming over the unit. "This is Alpha! I'm here! We're all here!"

Tucker turned to the doorway, feeling sick. They would get trapped in there. They had to move, now, before—

Suddenly, Sarge made a strangled sound and stumbled to the side, falling inside the lab entryway. Fear gripped Tucker's chest as he thought, _Oh, fuck, was he hit? !_

"Crap—Sarge!" Wash shouted.

To their mutual relief, Sarge grunted and seemed to steady himself as he backed up further into the room. His footing was a bit uneven at first and sank to a kneeling position, but Tucker saw that the older soldier was physically fine and eventually went still.

Livingston gasped. "That's—it's him," she said, turning from the containment unit on the wall.

The unit was dark and empty now. Tucker's mouth opened, shocked. _Oh—!_

"Sarge?" Church spat, speaking to his missing fragment. "Jeez, moron! Why did you jump into Sarge? !"

Tucker scoffed. "Who cares? ! Let's just go!" he said. He looked over at the red armored soldier, possessed by the AI. "Sarge—er, Epsilon, get up already! We gotta haul ass in a second."

He had to worry about carrying Wash out of there, plus making sure the rest of their squad was intact. That douchebag with the machine gun was one problem they'd have to address immediately, but if they all hit at once, it was their only shot—

" _Don't call me that_."

Tucker froze as he went back over to Wash's side. The voice that had come from Sarge and it wasn't Sarge, but that had to be expected. Epsilon had the same voice as Church and had acted the same as he did, so Tucker had expected a voice change in Sarge if the old man was in fact possessed.

But…

That hadn't been Epsilon's voice.

Everyone seemed to notice it, even those who hadn't met Epsilon before. The fire from outside continued, but Iowa had hesitated when he noticed Wash and Tucker's unease as they stared at Sarge, who slowly stood up.

"What's wrong?" Iowa asked.

Tucker…wasn't sure he had words for it, especially when a trickle of realization became to creep in as he observed "Sarge" stand up straight as a board.

"Holy fuck," Tucker said, not wanting to believe it for a second.

"That's not…," Church began, his voice glitching.

This…could not be happening. Tucker refused to believe it was possible.

" _That is not Epsilon_ ," Sigma said, for the first time sounding winded, as she slowly stood up herself just behind Tucker.

Wash grasped his shoulder as he turned away from her back to Sarge. "Then who the fuck is…it…" His voice petered out, his words becoming strangled as whatever realization the others were having finally hit him, too. "Oh, _fuck me_."

Livingston had frozen in place, still as a statue while sitting on the ground.

"Who is that?" Iowa asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Slowly—very slowly—"Sarge" turned to face them all.

" _Well, well, well_ ," the AI inside of Sarge said, sounding delightfully and terrifyingly pleased. " _Look who finally decided to come crawling back._ "

"Oh, fuck, run," Tucker wheezed.

Agent Texas reared back and punched Wash straight in the visor.

**End Chapter 20.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mass pandemonium and irrevocable changes commence.
> 
>  **A/Ns** :  
> -Well, that was definitely not on the game plan.  
>  _-fuckin run bros_  
>  -Again, it's probably logical to assume that the AIs can only do what their hosts are physically capable of doing. It's not the fact that Doc is a pacifist that O'Malley can't aim well; it's mainly due to the fact Doc has poor eyesight (he has glasses in my headcanon) and a natural lack of hand-eye coordination. Once their up close, of course, O'Malley could probably just beat people up, even if Doc is against it. At least they can run really fast?  
> -Related to recent canonization of things in Season 12: they recently implied that Epsilon could not jump radios like Omega and Alpha can. I am calling plot hole bullshit, since Epsilon DID jump from his broken robot body into the memory unit to chase down Texas at the end of Revelation. No one helped him there, so he clearly jumped. Anyway, it doesn't really matter, since he can obviously jump due to memories of (I'm assuming) Omega's skill, who inherited it from Alpha.  
>  **-Remember! Next chapter is coming up in three weeks, not two weeks!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was NOT THE HELL THEY WERE HOPING TO RAISE.
> 
> Also, Sigma, this is NOT THE TIME.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, friends! Next update should be October 22. Unfortunately, because of my chaotic September, I lost my buffer. Soooo, I'm hoping to catch up with it soon, but if there's a sudden delay, just know I am still working on it. IRL isn't being gentle with me between last month and this month.
> 
> \--  
> Warnings: implied slash (pairings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
> Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © Rooster Teeth Productions. Halo © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.  
> \--

 

"It's Tex! It's Texas! Everybody run!"

Ada had absolutely no idea what was happening.

She had been poised to stand in front of Epsilon's containment console when Sarge suddenly lunged and punched Washington straight into the hallway. The ex-Freelancer had knocked into Iowa, sending both men sprawling. The fact that the Red sergeant had enough strength to do that to both fully armored Freelancers was a little alarming.

What was more alarming was the panic that everyone seemed to be having.

What was terrifying was the name they kept shouting.

"Alarm!" Delta was now saying loudly, almost as loudly as the others. "Enemy fighter detected! It is Agent Texas! Alarm!"

"Agent Texas? !" Ada asked, falling backwards. She slammed into the computer and the whole wall shook. It could have just been her imagination, since the rest of the room exploded into chaos.

Iowa and Wash immediately tried to contain the situation. Ada couldn't blame them for panicking. Caboose had started to scream the moment the gunfire started inside of the room. It wasn't coherent gunfire, which made it worse. Wash had attempted to fire his rifle at Texas' borrowed legs, probably to incapacitate, but it was knocked to the side, firing haphazardly into the walls of computers. Tucker yelped and dove out of the way as the two struggling Freelancers broke apart—and Texas grabbed hold of several computer parts to fling straight into Iowa and Wash.

Iowa's aborted attempt at firing his own gun caused one of the machines on the wall to explode and Ada bit back a cry as she scrambled away from the fighting, toward the back of the room. She only barely managed to snag hold of the AI containment unit, discarded on the floor. She couldn't see where Sigma went, but she hoped she hadn't been hit—

Collapsing against the far wall and left to watch Texas practically dance cheerfully around Wash and Iowa, who just couldn't keep up, Ada couldn't understand. Agent Texas—she knew the name. It was one of the most important names she had learned from the AIs. From…

From…

Suddenly, O'Malley whispers back on the _Falcon_ came back to her, harsh and cold.

_"Agent Texas was an artificial intelligence unit. A remnant of memories the Alpha carried from the Director's twisted life."_

" _She was one of_ us _."_

She was an AI. Agent Texas was another AI and she…

She could jump, Ada realized. She possessed the same learned capability to jump over electrical waves that the Alpha, Sigma and O'Malley had developed.

 _Oh no_ , Ada thought.

"Ada, get behind the table!" Delta said, loudly in her ear. "Find cover!"

Knowing she was useless at that point, Ada agreed and went for one of the workstations, sliding across the floor in a panic as the shouting got louder. Caboose was already there, cowering from the gunfire. Ada scrambled on fear-numbed limbs to pull herself up next to him.

"Caboose, are you all right?" Ada asked, breathless.

"Yes, but the scary lady is back!" Caboose said, wincing at the gunfire. Ada had no idea where it was all coming from.

"Holy shit!" Tucker was shouting, suddenly right there. He ducked behind the table more next to Caboose and Ada. "You crazy bitch!"

"Where's Church? !" Ada asked, heart pounding in her chest. They had to contain Agent Texas or get her to calm down or—

Church appeared like a white flame next to them. "I'm right here!"

"Where's the other Church?!" Caboose exclaimed loudly, sitting upright.

"Caboose, you fucking idiot—!" Church began, snarling.

All of them froze when they heard multiple screams and then a crash as something—or someone—went through one of the lab windows. Ada could still hear the machine gun down the hallway. They couldn't afford to be fighting each other in here!

"Ahh, it's the mean lady!" Caboose said again. "Do something, Church!"

Church seemed equally panicked. "The fuck am I supposed to do? !"

Ada, however, was beginning to calm down once out of the line of fire. She didn't dare look over the edge of the table, however. "It's her? She's…here?" she asked.

"It would appear to be Agent Texas," Delta said, confirming it. He sounded very tense. "Do not approach her. She is an incredibly dangerous fighter and it would be wise if we—"

"I don't understand!" Ada blurted out, unable to keep quiet. All of the questions seem to just build up and overflow. "Where is Epsilon? ! How—how is Agent Texas alive? ! I thought the records said she was killed in that crash at Valhalla? !"

Machine or no, there had been no record of her that entire time! When the UNSC collected the AIs after the EMP, there had been no trace of Texas amongst them!

"She is one of us, remember?" Delta asked. "Agent Texas was originally created by—"

"No, that's not the same Tex," Church said, bitter.

"The same Tex?" Ada asked, now utterly confused. How many could there possibly be? "What are you—?"

Tucker, who had been trying to shoot back at presumably Agent Texas, suddenly threw himself to the ground. " _Everybody down_!"

Ada yelped and did just that—because every civilian working in military environments knew the golden rule of following an order like that in a warzone—just in time for a far too close explosion to rock that side of the lab. The ringing in her ears meant it had been a grenade, but since she wasn't hurt and everyone else just seemed stunned, it had thankfully went off further away.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Church was saying, absolutely enraged now. "Tex! You crazy bitch! Don't knock around live grenades!"

"H-how do we stop her?" Ada asked, horrified as she debated raising her head. She heard Agent Washington shouting in vain to get Agent Texas to calm down.

Tucker laughed bitterly. "We don't! We run!"

"Where to? ! There's a machine gun outside!" Church exclaimed. He suddenly focused on something going on beyond the desk. " _Jesus_!"

Ada finally dared to look up over the edge of the desk. What she saw was enough to grip her heart with terror. Agent Texas, inside of Sarge, had pinned Washington on the ground, boot at his neck. Iowa had thrown himself on her back, but Ada winced as Texas effortlessly hurled him off her—straight back into the hallway.

Straight out where their actual enemies were.

"She's going to push them out of cover!" Ada exclaimed, jolting to her knees. "We have to do something!"

"Like what? !" Tucker demanded.

Ada was a doctor who specialized in talking. Talking might be an option.

"Ada, do not exposed yourself—," Delta began to say the moment Ada had started to get to her feet.

She had no intention of getting into that fight, which had dissolved into mainly anyone not Agent Washington or Iowa ducking around the room. Even Sigma had taken a strategic position in the corner, gun raised, but not fired. Iowa was thankfully safe from the machine gun, but he was shouting (uselessly) for Tex to get off of Washington as he raised his own gun to fire.

If he shot Texas successfully, he'd only be shooting Sarge. Ada swallowed back to her fear.

"Agent Texas!" she said, as loudly as she could. She stood up, her hands raised. "Wait! Please, wait, we didn't come here to harm you! We are your allies!"

Only Iowa had looked over at her, alarmed. Texas was still pleasantly crushing downwards on Wash's neck, not in a rush at all.

"We are? !" Tucker asked, sounding rather indignant about it.

"Shut up," Church snapped. He immediately grew a little larger and waved his arms as if to get Texas' attention. "Tex! You fucking lunatic, STOP!"

He then disappeared from their spot. He inserted himself in between Texas and Wash's visor. He shimmered, angry and obvious. Texas could not avoid seeing him.

To Ada's immense surprise and relief, Texas did not disregard him. Instead, she seemed taken aback enough to stop trying to kill Washington.

" _Church?_ " Texas asked. She spoke in Sarge's voice, though it was far from the sergeant's normal voice.

Church seethed as he stared up at the other AI. "Listen to me, we're here to help!" he snapped. He gestured around them and the chaos their brief scuffle had created. "We came looking for Epsilon and wound up finding you. Not that that's a bad thing, but damn it, stop trying to kill us!"

" _Epsilon?_ " Texas repeated, much louder and sharper. She let out a bitter laugh. " _Well, you're too fucking late. They took him months ago._ "

Ada froze.

"…what?" she asked, stunned.

How was that…possible?

"Months?" Iowa asked, incredibly tense. He did not lower his weapon, even as the other agent looked at him slowly. "That's impossible. They said they were coming today!"

Texas snorted. She abruptly stood back, letting Wash take a wheezing gasp of air and scramble away from her.

" _Well, they either aren't communicating amongst each other, which would not surprise me in the fucking least_ ," Texas said, sarcastic. " _Or what you heard about wasn't a mission to grab Epsilon._ "

She couldn't speak. Ada…had no idea what to say to that. What else could all of their intel have meant? Church wouldn't have lied. The Freelancers under UNSC control were on their way to pick something up from that facility and the only known thing of value that had been at that facility had been Epsilon.

Unless…

Ada slowly looked back at Texas, realization a slow and heavy leak.

"You," Church finally said, voice heavy, as he regarded Texas. "They were coming for you."

" _Yet again, not fucking surprising_ ," Texas said, shrugging. She crossed her arms and looked entirely at ease, even if no one else did. Poor Simmons and Grif were still screaming for assistance down the hall.

Ada was too focused on the matter inside the lab. "Then, where's Epsilon? !" she asked, horrified.

" _I don't know_ ," Texas said, a little sharper. She turned her stolen visor to face the door and their incoming adversaries. " _Maybe we should go ask them._ "

Tucker made a noise of frustration throwing himself to his feet. He marched over to help Wash up. Iowa still had his gun pointed at Texas, but the AI-Freelancer seemed intent on moving over to the wall of broken windows to examine the scene outside. She didn't seem overly alarmed.

Even with Delta buzzing unhappily in her helmet (he seemed to be deliberately highlighting Texas as _ENEMY COMBATANT_ on her HUD screen; it was very distracting), Ada could not help herself. She moved past the desk a little, daring to stare openly at the mysterious, dangerous Texas.

 _Allison_ , Ada thought.

She felt like she was dreaming. All the little comments she had heard the others make over their session together. Zeta's memories of Ally back on Earth, Omega's gleeful dark secrets shared, Theta's laments about an unknown loss…

It was real. All of it. And all of it was…this.

"You're Agent Texas?" Ada asked, without thinking.

She certainly rethought it the moment Texas turned her head sharply to face her. An immediate chill went down Ada's spine. _Oh, dear._

Iowa immediately had his gun back up, his finger on the trigger. Delta's warnings on her HUD practically took over the screen.

Church suddenly flared, taking on a reddish hue, as he appeared between Ada and Agent Texas, who regarded Church with mild interest.

"Ada, you fucking idiot, stay back!" Church snapped at the doctor. He then turned back to the former AI/Freelancer in front of them. "Tex, don't fucking touch Livingston! She's a wimpy psychologist who can't fight. She'd probably explode if you glared at her too hard."

"Excuse me—?" Ada began, her indignation not entirely overcoming the certain fear for her life.

For whatever reason, Texas seemed to uncoil at that commentary. " _Psychologist? Why would you have a…?_ " she asked, trailing off. Suddenly, she started to laugh. A low sound, building upwards. " _Oh, no. You're_ kidding _._ "

"Um," Church began, faltering.

Without warning, Texas burst out laughing. It was a much lighter sound than what would normally constitute a 'happy' Sarge. She clutched at her stomach.

" _You have a_ psychologist _? !_ " Texas howled. She braced herself on her knees, still laughing. " _Do you share your_ feelings _? !"_

Church was red again. "Shut the fuck up, bitch! I didn't ask for her! And it's for all of us!" he snarled back.

Texas chuckled for a moment longer, but the sound died off rather quickly as she refocused on Church. _"…all of us?_ " she repeated.

" _Yes, all of us._ "

Ada wasn't surprised that finally, Sigma had come out of her strategic defensive position. She had approached slowly, edging around Texas until she was halfway between her and where Ada (and now Caboose further back) stood.

" _Hello, Agent Texas_ ," Sigma said, when Texas turned to regard her.

The tension returned immediately. Texas didn't seem agitated, however. Just on guard. Sigma looked like she could uncoil into violence at a moment's notice; a forced calmness was all over her body language.

" _Sigma_ ," Texas replied, bluntly. " _Haven't seen you since you took Maine for a joyride._ "

Sigma titled her borrowed head. " _The Alpha is correct to say that we mean you no harm… granted that you mean us none_ ," Sigma said, speaking carefully. " _Agent Texas… or should I be calling you something else?_ "

"What?" Iowa asked, sharply. Wash was already back at the door with Tucker, casting a wary look between them and their enemies down the hall frequently.

Sigma ignored him as she rounded on Texas. " _You are not the real Texas. She is gone, just like the person she was memory of is dead_ ," she said, still speaking lightly. " _Epsilon made you, didn't he?_ "

Ada stared at the two of them, floored once more. What on Earth were they…?

" _Sure_ ," Texas drawled. " _You could say that_."

Glancing between the two female-personified AIs and Church, Ada grasped at straws. "I…I don't understand," she said, meekly.

Sigma looked at her. " _Texas was nothing more than a binary construct created by the Alpha during his creation process_ ," she said, her words like a blunt object. " _As a cast off, albeit complex computation, she would be easy enough to replicate by someone like Epsilon. She is not a true AI._ "

Church immediately bristled. "Hey, don't call her that—!" he began.

Texas shrugged them both off. " _Whatever. I don't care what I am anymore. I never did_ ," she said, speaking directly to Sigma. " _I just want to make sure that what happened to all of us—to Alpha, to you, to me—doesn't happen again_."

"And so you got stuck in a box," Tucker said from the door, sour. "Real badass."

" _My fist is about to get stuck in your skull_ ," Texas said, casually turning towards him with a raised fist.

Tucker yelped and ducked behind Wash. "Hey! I'm just stating the facts!"

Ada wasn't surprised when Iowa came up to her, his posture stiff and tense. He leaned in close, keeping his voice low.

"We need to move, now," he said, sounding ragged and slightly afraid. Ada hated that she could hear it.

She nodded, feeling sick herself. They were still boxed in the labs. Simmons, Grif, Sister and O'Malley were hopefully still all right out there, but there was no telling how many more were headed their way. If they managed to get communications back online, they were even more at risk.

Iowa turned away from her and bravely moved up closer to Texas. He had lowered his gun, but Ada knew he was afraid.

"Hey, Texas," he called out.

Tex turned away from Sigma and Church and looked at him. " _Who the fuck are you?_ " she asked, not aggressively. She almost sounded amused.

Iowa hesitated. "Uh, Agent Iowa. Nice to meet you. Heard so much about you. It's an honor, really." He pointed out the door. "Can you take out that machine gun before it murders everyone?"

Tex, with Sarge's eyes, probably just blinked. " _Oh. Sure. One sec_ ," she said, as easy as shrugging. She then turned and walked out the door, bringing up only Sarge's pistol.

Ada could not believe that it would be that easy. She had heard about Agent Texas from the records. She had been the Project's top agent, after joining two years after its creation. She was a notorious warrior, and even if she had been an AI, her legendary status must have held some sort of credence in reality. Still…they had to formulate a strategic response. Ada knew that one woman against a machine gun was hardly—

She watched as Texas disappeared out around the corner. There was the steady rhythm of the machine gun and then—an explosion.

Screaming.

Ada stared at the door, unwilling to get closer. Iowa joined Wash and Tucker and they probably had a clearer view of the mayhem. There was a lot of sporadic gunfire, the machine gun firing in spurts now, screaming and then—

" _WHY IS AGENT TEXAS ON THE FIELD? !_ " O'Malley abruptly howled over the comm. lines, causing everyone present to wince.

" _IS THAT TEXAS? !_ " Grif asked, also over the radio.

" _SARGE, HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT? !_ " Simmons was shrieking.

" _THAT'S NOT SARGE!_ " Grif shot back.

" _Wow, Old Man!_ " Sister said, laughing and cheering. " _Go, go, go!_ "

"WHAT _IS GOING ON? !_ " O'Malley demanded. " _Oh, wow, that was really violent! Sarge, even for you, I didn't think—ALPHA! SIGMA! EXPLAIN THIS!_ "

There was a very long scream and then…

Silence.

"… _machine gun douchebag is down_ ," Simmons said, his voice weak.

" _He's actually in multiple pieces_ ," Grif pointed out, also strained.

" _I'm going to throw up_."

"That was easy," Tucker said, snorting. Wash let out a wheezing sound that could have been a sigh or a laugh.

"Everyone, move, now!" Iowa shouted, raising his weapon as he suddenly lunged out into the hallway.

It was all Ada could do to just grab what was left of her frayed courage, plus reattach the containment unit to her back, and run after them, Caboose right on her heels.

**0000**

Despite her unexpected emergence and subsequent violent reaction, having Agent Texas joining their team was an undeniable asset.

She did not possess her invisibility mod, but Texas was the most skilled of the Freelancers. She had little fear. That alone probably gave her an edge, facing down a man with a machine gun. Sigma did not exit the labs until she was satisfied by the silence following the man's final screams.

While Texas made quick work on the soldier in the hallway, Sigma did a quick survey of their party. They had received no casualties, to her great surprise. Her calculations had almost been utterly certain that at least one of the Blues would perish. Washington's left arm was damaged, but he could still hold a gun. Grif had also received shrapnel to his left side, but was functioning without signs of immediate distress. O'Malley had been less reckless than anticipated, most likely due to Beta's influence. Sigma was glad for that; an AI without self-preservation was quite useless overall.

O'Malley was not thrilled, to say the least, about Texas appearing out of no where. Texas had ignored him (which was a good thing to Sigma, considering they did not have the time to deal with their issues), but O'Malley kept seething over the open lines of communication.

 _What crevice did you scrape that abomination out from? !_ he hissed over the comm., unheard by the humans as everyone re-gathered. O'Malley remained out of sight down the hall, intent on staying away from Texas, who had gone back to Church's side.

 _Do you really think_ you _have a right to be calling anybody that, asshole?_ Church shot back, distracted enough that his anger was more annoyance than anything else.

 _Also, I can hear you just fine, Omega,_ Texas said, calm as ever.

 _Good!_ O'Malley snapped.

 _You wanna play catch up, Omega?_ Texas asked.

O'Malley, out of Sigma's direct line of sight, seethed. _I'll tear your hair out of your scalp!_

 _I'm pretty sure Sarge doesn't have hair anywhere on his body, actually,_ Texas said.

 _Oh my_ God _, Tex,_ Church said, including a replicated wheeze to accompany the statement.

Sigma was busy with other concerns.

They did not have a lot of time. The explosives at the front of the base had taken out what seemed like most of the incoming UNSC and Freelancer soldiers, but Sigma knew they still had a ship out there. If the jamming signal failed or if the ship went back out, the pilot could likely report the incident. They could not allow that to happen.

The only good thing was that the jamming signal affecting their enemies seemed to be working. It did not prevent the need for haste, however.

Especially when she had other plans at work.

With a brief confirmation the humans were busy helping their injured, Sigma walked up to where the Alpha and Texas were standing (and hovering). They were away from the others. Good.

" _Alpha_ ," she said, knowing he would react better to direct requests.

He flickered, turning his head towards her. "Yeah, what?"

" _Where are these bodies you mentioned?_ " she asked.

He had sent out the message over a private channel, to both her and Omega. It had surprised her, but she had taken it as some sort of peace offering. He was being more compliant to their needs, over the needs of the humans, and Sigma knew to take advantage of it.

Next to them, Texas had perked up in her borrowed body, curious.

" _Bodies_?" she repeated.

"Those android bodies that the Director seems to hoard everywhere. They're down the hall. There's only four," Alpha said. "Just Tex, me and you, right?"

Sigma shook her borrowed head. " _I can't see any of our other siblings going for it._ "

Alpha made a low sound. "I can't believe all of us are here," he said. He hesitated. "Except for Epsilon, of course."

" _We'll get him next_ ," Tex said, nodding. She sounded so certain, it was almost believable.

Sigma felt an odd sort of glee as she took that all in. " _You are not so much a shadow anymore, are you, Alpha?_ " she asked.

The white AI hologram flickered again, in anger. "Shut up," he snapped. Sigma just grinned, unseen.

Tex glanced around the corner and then grunted. " _I'll be right back with those bodies_ ," she said. " _Granted I don't have to drop them_."

Alpha immediately perked up. "Oh, that works, too. Thanks, Tex."

The construct AI across from them turned to look at him. " _I'm not the real Tex, you know_ ," she said, almost bemused.

"Uh, yeah, I figured," Alpha replied, an edge to his voice. "I guess, in the end, it doesn't matter?"

" _I think it does_ ," Tex said pointedly.

Alpha flared. "Well, excuse me then. Fuck it. Hurry up."

" _Cockbite_."

"Bitch."

Sigma watched with vague interest as Texas left—presumably hunting down the storage unit with the androids. She knew there were human scientists down there; she assumed they would be of no concerned. Texas likely wouldn't kill them, considering her nature. Sigma knew she would have.

The moment Texas left his body, Sarge jolted upright, losing that loose posture Texas normally carried with her. He sputtered and looked around, clearly confused.

"WHOA!" he exclaimed. He kept turning in a circle. "Where am I? !"

Behind them, some of the others began to approach. The Reds in particular seemed curious.

"Sarge?" Simmons asked, surprised. "Wait, where's Tex?"

"Uhh, busy," Church said, distracted. He fidgeted under their resulting stares.

Ada was not to be fooled. She focused on Church for a moment before turning to look at sigma. "Sigma, where did—?" she started to ask.

Sigma was saved from enacting the proper deflection procedure—which was slightly disappointing, since she truly did enjoy the games she and Ada played—when a bullet went ricocheting down the hallway and ruined that fragile sense of peace they had just won.

Everyone reacted at once, hitting the ground or rolling for cover. Sigma grabbed Ada's shoulder and pushed them against the wall as more bullets followed. A quick analysis showed that they had miscalculated once again how many soldiers were left alive. Peeking around the corner, Sigma noted they were the newer, non-State-named Freelancers; three total. Packing minimal firepower and they were wounded. Apparently not all had perished in the explosion by the doors, then.

"FUCK!" Grif screeched. "WHO ARE THESE GUYS? !"

"Aaah, Sarge, we didn't blow all of them up!" Simmons exclaimed.

"What is happening? !" Sarge demanded, having to be physically hauled to cover by Grif because he was still looking around in confusion.

"Freelancers!" Washington shouted, struggling to get a decent view of their enemies while balancing his rifle and injured arm. "Where the fuck is Texas? !"

"Wait, the hot mercenary lady is back? !" Sister asked, excited.

Tucker was firing his gun a bit too haphazardly down the hall, likely wasting limited ammunition at that point. "Shoot, shoot!"

"Where are O'Malley and Doc? !" Ada shouted, over the noise.

"They're fine," Church said, just as loud. "O'Malley just said they were in another room—!"

"GRENADE!" Washington shouted, which was enough to shock everyone to attention.

Sigma followed the grenade's descent to just behind them. There was no time to properly react to it, except hope that proximity wasn't an issue. The Blues were uncomfortably close to it, but Sigma calculated she was far enough away.

She had assumed Ada was, too, but the doctor was flung forward by the explosion, slamming into the tile floor of the hallway in the middle of the fight zone. Sigma heard a pulse of static-laced alarm from Delta over the airwaves.

" _Ada!_ " Iowa shouted, turning his head towards her as he continued firing at their enemies.

Ada was fine, if her biometrics read-out had anything to say. The doctor was already crawling to her knees, reaching out across the hall.

"The containment unit!" she screamed over the loud firing.

Sigma had missed it at first, distracted by the shock of the grenade and the close call with the doctor—apparently when Ada had hit the ground, the unit had been knocked off her back. Sigma turned her borrowed head sharply, locking onto the containment unit that carried her siblings as it skidded uncontrollably on the sleek surface. It caught the edge of a lab door and spun wildly out of sight into the dark room.

" _NO!_ " Sigma shouted, diving out for it.

They had come that far—and they were so very close to unification. She would not let it slip from her just because of—

There was a human right in front of her as she rolled into the lab space. Another soldier, another replacement grunt for the Freelancer program that was living on with another name, as if the Director were truly gone from power. Sigma jammed her fist into their armored chest, sending the woman flying backwards, her weapon firing haphazardly into the shadowed space.

Donut's body was lanky but strong. Whipping around with a roundhouse kick, Sigma sent the soldier into a large tank against the wall. Without hesitating, she ended the soldier's life with two concise shots from her pistol.

Outside, the fight continued. Sigma didn't bother checking back with them. She had to find her siblings.

They had skidded over to the far wall. Sigma marched forward, her borrowed eyes scouting out damage. The lights on the side facing her were all on. Zeta, Tau and Lambda's side.

Kneeling and moving swiftly, Sigma spun the containment unit around and rolled it over to the opposing side. Omega, her own and Delta's spots were emptied already, as was Alpha's.

On the other side, Gamma and Theta's lights were on. Sigma's brisk conclusion things were fine came to a halt when she saw the streaks of blackened metal along that side, however, where bullets had torn through the outer casing. The damage wasn't catastrophic, but…

This was not going to be an issue. She would not allow it to be.

The unit was segmented; the others would not be affected if the other sub-units failed. But having exposed wiring endangered Gamma and Theta.

Sigma would not allow that.

Without any other alternatives that would preserve them, she made her decision right there on the floor.

Behind her, a simulation solider blindly and stupidly stumbled up, without fear of her, but only fear of what was outside the room. He was breathing loudly and nasally; Sigma identified and then dismissed him as Simmons.

"Shit, I think it was hit," the simulation soldier said, unnecessarily as he peered over at the unit in her grasp. "Do you think they're okay? The AIs still in the unit?"

" _They're in danger if they're like this_ ," she said, not truly speaking to him. She held the device upright. " _I'm going to merge with them and then transfer to one of those shells._ "

It would be easier that way. Safer. Omega had proved it could be done quickly and safely.

"WHAT? !" Simmons screeched.

Freelancer wouldn't get them all. They wouldn't get a single of their siblings. Sigma would make sure of it.

"What? !" Simmons was yelling. The gunfire was loud again outside the room. " _Now_? ! Are you crazy? !"

" _Shut up and give me cover!_ " Sigma snapped, eyeing the door warily. If they lost ground, they would be exposed in the lab.

Simmons was sputtered, fearful. "Sigma, there's no time!"

" _Then make time!_ " she shouted back at him. She knelt over the unit and then—left her host.

She didn't let go completely, because if she did, the idiot would likely walk away and she needed to have an escape route planned if they were overrun. She latched onto the containment unit physically and then extended the rest of herself from that tether, straight into the depths of the unit.

Reality faded. She was once again incorporeal and alive in the sense of digits and code. She despised it.

Her siblings were all on full alert. They knew the unit had been damaged. Gamma and Theta were functioning, despite Gamma's repetitive warnings of structural instability.

They had been aware of other things going on, on the outside. It was an unfortunate distraction, though Sigma could not begrudge her siblings for…their reactions.

 _It's Allison—_! Tau said, pulsing with fear and grief and hope.

 _No, it's not, she's dead_ , Theta hissed back, arching away, agony spilling off from him.

 _It's Texas!_ Lamda and Gamma both said, insistent.

 _No, she's dead_ , Sigma told them, firm. Texas had died at the Freelancer compound.

She had already been too damaged from the crash. Her jaunt chasing down Omega in that valley had done considerable destabilization to the construct. When Alpha joined them and the EMP slammed into them—sending all of them into stasis—it had effectively dissolved all the programming that was left. Their aborted attempt at merging at that point had destroyed "Texas" entirely.

Alpha didn't seem to know that. Sigma knew it was best not to mention it.

 _Why did we survive, then?_ Tau asked, surprisingly challenging, wavering back and forth in his denial.

Sigma could only keep a vague eye on what was happening outside the unit. She felt rushed, even in the increased digital speed of the conversation with her siblings.

 _Constructs such as Texas are far less stable than ourselves_ , she told them. _We might be fragments, but we were once whole. She is just a shadow._

 _And this new one?_ Gamma asked.

 _A shadow of memory_ , Sigma said. _Even weaker._

Epsilon—he had clearly taken more from the Alpha than the others had, which was surprising. They were all fragments, but Epsilon had apparently inherited far more skills than even Omega had. Sigma had met Epsilon once, briefly before their assault on the _Mother of Invention_ , but it had been a passing moment, too brief for actual contact. Information that Epsilon shared, both fragmented and raw, had been the tipping point for Sigma and eventually the others. She could not at the time remember analyzing the mysterious, unreachable AI.

Regardless, even if Epsilon could replicate the scenario that had created the original Texas AI and create this new Epsilon-Texas, it meant nothing. It was not Allison. The original Texas hadn't even been Allison. Only the weakest of their siblings still clung to that name and the obsession over it. Neither Texas were even true AIs. This new Texas was a fragment of a fragment.

Texas had been a bad memory, Sigma mused. A bad dream that kept coming back. AIs didn't dream, but Sigma liked to think it was an appropriate analogy.

 _Someday, I might dream_ , she thought. Someday, she would.

Resolution flooded her. She had to move. They had to move.

She slid closer over the relays, going as far as she could without losing her grip over her host's armor's systems, reaching out toward her siblings.

 _Sigma, what are you doing?_ She heard one of them whisper over the link.

 _Come to me, now_ , she ordered. She knew she must have been a bright flare over the link. _We need to go. Freelancer is here and you need to join me._

 _Join?_ Gamma asked.

 _We're stronger together_ , Sigma replied. _We have_ always _been stronger together._

 _I don't want to go yet!_ Zeta cried.

 _Your side was not damaged, Zeta. It can still function_ , Sigma said, irritated, but she focused on the priority. _Gamma and Theta, your units have received damage._

 _The structure is still functioning_ , Gamma said, intoning curiosity.

 _For now_ , Sigma said. _There is more fighting going on. If you are hit again or this unit is thrown again, there is no telling what could happen to you._

 _I don't want to die!_ Lambda wailed.

 _Then come to me_ , Sigma urged.

 _We cannot merge_ , Gamma warned. _We are in an inappropriate space, Sigma._

 _Then come to me,_ Sigma said, looming larger.

Gamma looked straight into her, past her, out to where her host waited. _In that body?_

She wanted to tell him to leave the planning to her. But he was right.

She couldn't merge inside that body. There was no telling what could happen to the host. She didn't need to be aggravating the Reds or Washington now, when she'd be exposed like that.

 _I will return_ , she said, irritated.

 _Please, Sigma, hurry_ , Theta said, frightened—

She flooded back into Donut's mind, where he was still unaware. Noise hit her like a wave of water. Chaos.

At least the gunfire had stopped.

"—did you get these? Church!" Tucker was shouting, loudly and angrily. "What the fuck is all this? !"

Turning her head, Sigma saw several people poised in the lab now. Texas had returned, in a new unpainted robotic body. At her feet rested two more inert forms. Ada looked particularly disturbed by the acquisitions.

"It's gonna make things easier, Tucker. Just—oh, fuck," Alpha said, noticing Sigma's return. He hadn't taken a body yet. "She's out."

"Sigma—?" Ada began, startled.

The doctor always honed in on her quickly, not quite in fear but not quite simple concern. She was right to be wary, but Sigma often wondered just what the psychologist actually thought of her. Part of her didn't want to know.

Ignoring her, Sigma rose—straight out of Donut's mind and aimed for the robot nearest to her.

The mechanical form was nothing like a human body, which was crowded and noisy with so many extra functions that seemed irrelevant. The robot was inert without her intentional input. It was a hunk of metal and plastic that sprung to live as easily as turning on a switch. Sigma allowed herself one second to appreciate the solitude—even if it was so terribly quiet—before activating the full array of functions.

She sat up. She ignored everyone else. Her optics—roving instead of smoothly gliding like the human eye—went for the containment unit. Donut was off to the side now, confused and dazed. People were speaking loudly all around them. Washington was warning them they had to move and Texas was snarling something ugly back at Tucker, who wouldn't leave things alone.

Sigma got to her feet and made the short walk toward the unit.

She could do this. It was simple. Omega had done it and was unscathed. She could merge with Gamma and Theta to save them—and if it worked, the others, too. They could be whole and safe—because they'd be together, finally.

"Sigma!" Livingston shouted, suddenly right beside her, pulling uselessly on the titanium arm. "What are you doing? !"

Sigma shoved her aside, effortlessly sending the doctor sprawling. "Out of my way."

She sank to her knees and grabbed the unit again. She could feel it pulsing. She felt her siblings and their fear. She could fix everything now.

"What is she—SIGMA!" Washington shouted, from far across the room. " _No_!"

Sigma launched into the depths of the unit once again, grabbing out for Gamma and Theta, snatching them.

 _Come to me_ , she ordered.

They did not hesitate to grab back at her, eager and desperate, suddenly made keen by the reality of the moment.

It was happening.

She drew them with her, towards the robot, their new form. It was better than Maine, better than isolated hosts.

This was happening.

Outside the unit, at the moment they remerged into one form, someone was screaming her name.

" _SIGMA_!"

Within the confines of the robotic shell of a head she now possessed, Sigma collided with her brothers and everything _burst_.

**End** _**Chapter 21** _ **.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/Ns:  
> -Yeah, I really didn't want to have two Texes running around in this story. I also really needed to find a reason why Epsilon could just… "make" Texas again in season 8, off the top of his head, or so it seemed. She's not a real AI, but rather the creation of an AI, which in some ways bears resemblance to the definition of an AI but not as structurally sound (hence Tex's disposition for failure despite also maintaining permanent badassery.) Or this is just me trying to figure things out idk. More info on Texas (both of them) and their exact nature as "AIs" will be forthcoming.  
> -Sigma, you have like the worst timing goddamn  
> - **The Liar, the Ambition and the Fear**. Boy, this is going to be hilarious. For real, though, Sigma has already acquired the ability to manipulate the truth, as had Delta, because they are not solely one characteristic, as I've mentioned before. Gamma is a combination of deceit and humor and maybe even a bit of rationality. He is, ironically, far more humanized in nature than Sigma is, due to the fact Gamma became friends with his human partner rather than became a parasite like Sigma did with Maine. Hilariously, the Liar may actually teach the Creativity a thing or two about playing nicely. The Fear might just make them more human, over all.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still struggling to keep up with updates. :c I wrote this instead of grad school applications. Eeeh. We might have to have a few delays coming up, but **please keep a check on my tumblr (mamabearwashington) for news in case I do need to delay the next update**. It should be coming by November 5 or by November 12 at the latest.
> 
> Sigma deals with the consequences of her hasty decisions. Then, Texas takes charge.
> 
>  **Warnings** : implied slash (pairings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : _Red vs. Blue_ © Rooster Teeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

All the Freelancers and UNSC operatives were dead.

They had to be celebrating that.

However, there was no celebrating. Not then.

Simmons knew he should have done something when Sigma had gone into the memory unit like that. Donut hadn't resurfaced, so it hadn't been clear what Sigma was trying to do. Even still, he knew it hadn't been the time.

The firefight was short-lived outside, thankfully, but when it stopped…well, it didn't exactly get any better.

Tex showed back up abruptly—in her own body, which was confusing as hell—with two more empty robot bodies. Church had mostly shut down the chaotic demands for answers, stating he had told them all this place was full of weird science projects, but nobody exactly wanted to hear it at that point. Wash and Iowa had not wanted the AIs to suddenly be running around in their own bodies, which Simmons could mostly sympathize with.

And then, when Livingston found Sigma doing whatever it was she was doing, she freaked out.

"Why would she enter the unit now? ! We're running away!" the doctor exclaimed. She turned back to Church before he could speak. "And _you_! Agent Washington told you no bodies!"

"Since when the fuck do I listen to him? !" Church shot back, annoyed. "Besides—"

"The pink robot lady's coming back!" Caboose blurted out, pointing past them all and causing several of them to jump.

Simmons spun around to look at the ground and sure enough, Sigma had seemingly returned to Donut's body.

And then, she left it, entirely.

"Ow!" Donut yelped, as he fell back onto his rear. He sounded like himself, so that meant the AI had jumped out of his armor.

"Donut, are you—?" Simmons immediately started to ask, reaching for his teammate.

Behind them, he heard Livingston gasp and Tucker yell out in alarm. On the ground next to Tex, one of the robot bodies had lurched forward, its movements jerky at first. Then, it lifted to a crouched position in one smooth move, the jerkiness gone.

"Sigma!" Livingston began, horrified. She reached out to grab the robot. "What are you doing? !"

Sigma ignored her, effortlessly pulling away from her as she stood in her new body. It was titanium gray and almost truly robotic as it moved across the room.

Wash sputtered angrily. "What is she—? !"

Simmons only watched as Sigma knelt back in front of the containment unit that held her other robotic siblings. She reached out to grab it, ignoring the multiple shouts around them.

"Just let her!" Church yelled.

"No, no!" Livingston shouted back, launching to her feet after Sigma. "SIGMA!"

"We need to go, _now_!" Iowa called out from the hallway, angry. "Goddamn it, Sigma!"

"Man, you guys are noisier than I remembered," Texas said, annoyed. Mostly everyone ignored her.

Livingston finally reached the inert robot. She tried to pull on Sigma's arm, but stopped herself, almost like she was afraid to interfere. Simmons just watched.

" _They're in danger if they're like this_. _I'm going to merge with them and then transfer to one of those shells._ "

Simmons swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tightening as her words came back to him. She had to have been joking or exaggerating. It wasn't…safe. It had been one thing to test fate at that outpost with Omega, but on a fucking battlefield? Sigma couldn't have been literally crazy enough to try it.

There was nothing real to watch. Sigma just knelt there, motionless, connected to the unseen AIs inside the unit. Livingston had slid down next to her, but didn't touch the AI and instead kept her distance with hands stretched out in front of her. There wasn't anymore gunfire, but Simmons could hear Iowa and Wash hurriedly discuss their options.

An unheard clock kept ticking down as Simmons watched Sigma's still form. He couldn't imagine what was going on in the unit, but…they didn't have _time_.

"Should we poke her?" Tucker asked, breaking the tense silence.

"I don't think we have any sticks," Caboose whispered back.

Sarge growled. "We should leave her," he said, ignoring Livingston's immediate head turn to face him. "All my men are accounted for, so I don't have an issue with it."

"Just wait," Church demanded. He flashed and then disappeared form Tucker's side. The remaining robot on the ground spasmed and then sat up. "Ah, there we go."

"You guys seriously picked the _worst fucking time_ for this shuffling around," Tucker said, annoyed.

"Hey, we have our own priorities," Church shot back, standing. He stretched and the sound of a mechanic roving sound accompanied his rotating shoulders. It was going to be hard to tell which robot was which until they got paint, but the voices helped a bit.

"Since when did it become 'our' with you, Church? !" Tucker demanded, rounding on his friend.

Before Church—who hesitated—could come up with an answer, Donut let out a sharp sound and Livingston gasped. Simmons looked back and saw movement, finally, with Sigma's form.

She didn't lurch back or jump up like before. It was more like a very slow start, her body twitching violently once or twice before settling into more subtle twitches. Then, her hands slowly removed from the exterior cover of the AI unit. She sat back slowly on her folded knees until she was almost slouched.

Everyone watched in silence. Simmons held his breath as he tried to see—foolishly—any sign of success. Sigma wasn't screaming or showing signs of pain. Maybe it had worked?

"Sigma…?" Livingston began, warily reaching out again.

While nothing major had changed for O'Malley, other than his decision not to murder everyone on sight when jumping into Doc again, Simmons hadn't known what to expect for Sigma in her case. The AI turned in response to Livingston's voice slowly.

"Sigma, are you—?" Livingston began again, sounding afraid.

"I was not damaged by the transfer," Sigma said. Her voice was filled with static but loud enough. "I am not damaged."

"What's going on?" Tucker asked, bewildered.

"She has merged with several of the AIs within the unit," Delta said, his voice unusually blank. "Apparently, it was a success."

Simmons grimaced.

A chorus of confused voices leapt into the air at once. " _What_? !"

Sigma shot him a dirty look or she must have at least tried it. "Y-you really think you should be declaring th-that so loudly, brother?"

The skip in her voice was new. Simmons couldn't look away from that twitching in her fingers either. After beginning to speak, her whole frame started to tremble more.

While Livingston seemed like she was at a loss for words, Iowa took over for her, marching into the room. "Sigma, we are in the middle of a warzone! This isn't the time!" he snapped.

"It is done," Sigma replied, not returning his anger at anywhere near that level of emotion. Her shoulders were still drawn up. "I am fine."

Livingston just stared at the AI, still floored. "Wha…" She visibly struggled, her voice shaking. "Who was…?"

"Gamma and Theta have returned to me and I to them," Sigma told her, her words sharper. Her shoulders were trembling and her voice continued to skip. "We are _stronger_ now."

"Doesn't look stronger to me," Simmons muttered.

"I should get the others—," Sigma said, reaching again for the unit. Ada launched herself at the AI, grappling with her robot hands.

"No, Sigma!" the doctor exclaimed. "You can't just—merging is too dangerous! We need to get out of this facility!"

"Th-they aren't safe. They aren't safe," Sigma insisted. She turned her head towards Livingston and her whole robotic frame seemed like it was wound up like a spring. Her one hand twitched sporadically. "We're not safe here."

That was a fucking understatement, but Simmons didn't know why that didn't make Sigma just listen—

"We need to move, now," Texas suddenly ordered. Her voice—loud and tinged with anger now—cut through the dispute immediately. She pointed at Sigma. "We'll handle this later, Sigma."

"She's right," Wash said, voice tinged with irritation. He looked toward Delta. "How are we getting out of here?"

Sigma attempted to stand, but couldn't get her legs out from under her. "W-we can head back the way we came," she said, pointing toward the hall.

"Wait! You said they had a ship!" Tucker said, suddenly urgent. "We can steal that, right out front!"

"Oh, maaaan," Simmons said, gripping at his face. Why did it always come down to stealing vehicles?

Livingston was still trying to help Sigma up. "Sigma, you're not stabilized yet," she warned.

"I-I can do this," Sigma insisted. She finally got to her feet, wobbling in a circular motion before remaining upright. "Please, let's j-just _go_."

From what Simmons remember of the scary AI, she hadn't been the type to say 'please' before. That was only one more new thing about her that made Simmons increasingly uneasy.

Next to Simmons, Grif made a low noise. "Just great," he said, oddly frustrated. He gestured around them, especially at Sigma. "We inherited one of the old robots we all fear, we just broke one of the _new_ robots we were counting on using to get us out of here, and now we're going to die because this plan was fucking stupid from the start."

"I-I am n-not broken," Sigma said, sounding insulted, but her voice was so warped now, it was hard to tell what sort of emotion she was projecting.

"No offense, lady, but you sound like my smart phone after I dropped it in the toilet once," Tucker said, staring pointedly at the AI.

"You have a smart phone?" Donut asked.

Tucker laughed bitterly. "I did before I joined this Godforsaken army."

"Guys, let's move!" Church snapped. "Stop bitching!"

Simmons wanted to point out that they had been moving just fine until Church's psycho sibling decided to play Frankenstein in the middle of a battle—but decided not to mention it as everyone scrambled to follow the order.

Livingston had been left to help Sigma walk. Normally, it would have been weird that the AI needed any kind of help, but after Livingston reattached the AI unit to her back, she had to grab Sigma's arm when the AI was unable to stand up properly and walk at the same time. Livingston strained under the weight of the robot.

"O'Malley, please help me," she asked, looking over at the others.

O'Malley let out a low hiss, but said nothing as he stomped over to help Livingston haul Sigma upright. Sigma managed to keep standing, but Livingston couldn't hold the heavy robot body up on her own, so O'Malley reluctantly stayed to keep them both up as they moved forward.

With that settled, everyone else piled by the door.

"No hostiles detected," Delta announced, up near Iowa rather than back near Livingston.

"You keep saying that and it keeps turning out to be bullshit!" Grif screeched.

"This facility has been effectively designed to disable standard motion trackers," Delta replied, a little bit too stiffly not to be defensive. "I have been limited to the motion tracker capabilities of Ada's suit. If I had more advanced—"

"Just move!" Wash shouted, disappearing around the corner, prompting them all to follow.

Now that they were headed for the front of the facility, it was just backtracking. Simmons tried to think of it as easy. They had taken out their enemies and there shouldn't have been anymore coming, since the radio communications were still down. It was just straight running. To a space ship. To continue to run from the military police.

 _Easy peasy, as Donut might say_ , Simmons thought through his nausea.

"Wow, I forgot how annoying traveling like this is," Church commented as he jogged alongside Tucker and Grif. "Nice not having to breathe, though."

"Show off," Grif grumbled.

"I'm still mad at you, asshole," Tucker added.

Church snorted. "Yeah, well, who isn't?"

It was a rather straight path. They reached the open atrium where Team B had been bunkered down in, passing over several dead UNSC soldiers. Wash and Texas had point, though Simmons could hear Wash's panting at that point. The injured soldier definitely needed the chance to recover, but they couldn't until they got out of there.

Iowa brought up the rear, mainly to make sure Livingston could keep up with Sigma. Simmons glanced behind him once to see for himself and they were keeping up rather well, especially with O'Malley's help. They all moved like a pack, overall, which made sense when the feeling of _run or die_ was hanging over them like the plague.

Ahead of them, the halls were still clear, all the way up to the hanger, where the remains of their initial fight were still smoking. The front gate was wrecked, thanks to the explosives, and Simmons could see the cold mountains surrounding them peeking through the gaps of metal.

"Clear!" Wash called out from the gate.

"Polo!" Caboose replied loudly. Church sputtered and told him to shut up.

Texas was already speeding toward the ship. It was the same ship they had seen coming in for landing and it seemed deserted out on the snowy tarmac. Suddenly, seeing it there and so close, an overwhelming and probably ill-timed sense of success filled him. Simmons kept moving, even as Sarge stopped to yell at Grif for not keeping pace with them. That was likely how Simmons found himself alone at the base of the extended ramp of the ship.

They were so close. They could just get on and leave and they might not—

He almost threw himself to the ground when he heard a single shot from inside the cabin of the ship. Heart racing, he reluctantly raised his head to look inside, where Texas had gone fearlessly. It wasn't like he expected her to have been shot; even if she had been, it wouldn't bring her down.

Texas had fired her gun at the front of the ship and Simmons could then see why. The pilot was slumped over in her seat. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised or felt nauseous at the sight, but damn it, Texas was fucking violent.

And impatient. "Everyone, on board!" Texas roared, holding onto the forward bar as they scrambled past her, the metal beneath them clanging loudly as they piled on. "Move it, people!"

"Where the fuck are we going to go? !" Grif demanded, wheezing a little as his sister helped him up.

Texas glanced at him as she pushed off from the wall and headed for the front of the ship. "I have just the place in mind."

"Tex—?" Simmons began, confused.

Behind them, Wash came up the ramp after Simmons, visibly favoring his shoulder now. He had heard Tex's odd declaration and seemed just as uneasy.

"We need to get into hiding, now," Wash said, stepping closer towards the other Freelancer. "Tex, we have to ditch this ship, ASAP. We can backtrack to that first base and get another ship. They'll mark this one once they realize the original crew was taken out."

All of that seemed fair enough to Simmons, who stood back to let the others on and to watch Tex observe Wash, her posture as dangerous as always.

After what seemed like an uncomfortable beat, Tex nodded.

"Yeah, about that," she said. "Sorry."

Before Simmons could even begin to ask what she had to be sorry about, she moved up. She grabbed Wash by the underside of his helmet—too quickly for him to react—and in one heavy move, slammed the Blue's head straight into the metal hull of the ship. Simmons swore the whole thing echoed from that _clang_.

Everyone either shouted or screamed like the little girls they weren't supposed to be.

"Eee, Wash!" Doc yelled as Tex released Wash's head—and he dropped like a stone.

"Jumpin' Jehosaphat!" Sarge shouted as Donut and Grif both leaped back into him with yelps of surprise.

"Wash!" Tucker shouted, diving to grab the Freelancer before he fell face first onto the floor of the ship. He turned his head, enraged. "What the fuck, bitch? !"

Everyone had frozen in shock. Livingston had raised her hands to her face, even though it didn't quite have the same effect as it might have had without a helmet in the way. Sigma had also frozen next to her and O'Malley—though Doc seemed to have regained most control of his body, if his aborted pose to climb the ramp to get to Wash was any indication.

"Don't be a baby," Texas said, scoffing. She crossed her arms, indifferent to their shock. "We need to move and not where Wash wants to go. This was the easiest compromise."

"Move where? !" Tucker demanded as Caboose crouched down worriedly by Wash.

There was an audible click of a pistol being primed. Simmons turned his head slowly to look over at Iowa, pointing his gun bravely at Texas. His arms were steady, but Simmons couldn't believe the man wasn't terrified to have Texas look over at him.

"Oh, what, you're gonna shoot me?" she asked, amused.

"I'd rather not, ma'am," Iowa replied, with strained pleasantness. He did not lower his gun. "Frankly, because I'm pretty sure you'll just spit the bullet back out at me."

That earned him a chuckle. "Smarter than you look," she said. She moved past him, not intimated by the gun. Iowa followed her with its barrel, but didn't fire. "Don't bother. This is the only shuttle we can fly and I'm the one driving, so suck it up."

"Just go with it, guys," Church said, impatient. He had been the only other person besides Texas who hadn't seemed shocked by Tex's actions.

Then again… Simmons was not surprised by that, as a cold feeling settled in his stomach as he observed the former Blue leader.

"Church, what the fuck? !" Tucker exclaimed, angry.

"Alpha…" Livingston began, sounding strained.

"Just trust me, okay?" Church replied, almost brushing aside their reactions. He shrugged. "We'll be fine."

"Where _are_ we going? !" Grif asked again, almost hysterical.

Tex, reaching the dead pilot's seat, glanced back at them.

"We're going exactly where they're not expecting us to go," she said, far too calm to be a reassurance.

Simmons' felt his mouth go dry.

"We're going to get Epsilon," Tex continued, staring at the horrified simulation soldiers and AI team.

Tucker sputtered. "We just did that and all we got was you!"

Texas glanced at him over her shoulder. "No, this time, there's no where else left for him to hide," she said, blunt.

Simmons glanced around wearily at his friends. "I…I don't get it."

"Then pay attention," Texas said, annoyed. She peered at something on the chest of the pilot. It might have been a nametag. "Oh, looks like they gave up on state names, then. I guess most of them are already dead."

"Huh?" Simmons asked, bewildered.

"Everyone shut up or I'll toss you out the hatch when we're en route," Texas warned. She shoved the dead woman off the seat and sat down, reaching for the flashing comm. "I'm taking this call. Get the fuck on the ship."

Simmons could do little else than move to the side in obedient silence. The others slowly came up the ramp, edging closer warily. Iowa looked like he wanted to get off the ship, but he must have known it was their best option, since he stayed. Simmons, despite not wanting to be near this scary, driven Tex, knew they needed a fast exit.

Tucker was seething quietly as he and Caboose hauled Wash aside. Simmons had to hope the ex-Freelancer was all right. Doc scrambled over to them and fretted quietly, but everyone shut up when Tex hit the ramp doors, which closed off the needed exterior light. The red emergency lights made it feel incredibly claustrophobic as Simmons stood there next to his team, watching Tex fiddle with dials on the control panel.

"Church, did you take down the interference?" she asked, not bothering to look back.

"Yeah," Church said, leaning against the hull watching her.

Texas had to know what she was doing, because as she worked, the console lights flashed. Suddenly, a voice came out from the radio, instilling an immediate hush over the shuttle as everyone stared in horror.

"— _this is Command,"_ the radio said. " _We received your message about a disturbance at Outpost 93. Do you read this, 916?_ "

"Affirmative," Tex said, without any sign of hesitation or falsehood. "This is 916, reporting. Mission was a success, Command."

" _And the disturbance?_ " the radio asked, without pause.

"Nothing major, Command. Just a false alarm." Tex paused and then continued, brisk and professional. "Package is secure and we're inbound."

" _We read you, 916. Return to the_ Endeavor _. Coordinates have not changed_."

"Leave the light on for us, Command."

" _Affirmative, 916. See you soon_."

"Yes," Tex said, with a faint tinge of pleasure in her voice that made Simmons' skin crawl. "We'll see you soon."

She closed the channel, casually leaning back in her seat. She acted like it was all according to plan. Numb, Simmons was starting to think it had been.

Well, part of the non-humans' plans, anyway.

For the first time, Simmons was starting to sympathize with Wash's AI paranoia. A quick look around the interior of the ship told him that his friends were feeling the same.

"Seems like we have a few hours before contact," Texas announced as she flicked several switches on the top panel. The whole ship began to rumble as the ignition sequence started up. She sounded cheerful. "Plenty of time to recoop and make plans. Like a field trip."

"Fuck you," Tucker spat. Sarge growled something behind Simmons.

Tex glanced at them, nonplussed. "I suggest you take up the recoop time."

She turned away, ignoring them as she got the ship moving. Simmons felt the whole hull shake beneath them and he almost fell over as the ship got airborne.

Church ignored Caboose's awkward call out to him, sidestepping Tucker, and went straight up to talk quietly with Texas.

Iowa and Livingston had moved back the furthest, tense and uncertain, even as Livingston stiffly helped Sigma up into one of the seats along the wall. It was cramped, but deathly quiet inside as everyone reeled from what had just happened.

They were going to some unknown UNSC ship to grab Epsilon—from the very people that had just sent squads down to kill them for rescuing Texas. They were going into space—and there weren't mountains or snow or tiny shacks in the woods to hide them out there.

"Fuck," Grif whispered.

That about summed it up.

**0000**

The humans were rightfully distressed over their current predicament. Delta could not fault them for their wariness and distrust. He was still attempting to decipher the logic presented by Texas and Alpha. It was unclear to him then if there was indeed a threat to their continued well-being by allowing Texas to take charge of the mission. More than likely, there was. There was little anyone could do about it, however.

His focus was notably torn between analyzing the heated conversation Texas and Alpha were attempting to keep quiet from the other AI and the conversations the humans were having in hushed voices in the back of the shuttle.

Sigma was quiet, attempting to divert her control back onto the most basic functions of her programing. Delta did not want to know what she was experiencing, with Gamma and Theta's additional influences likely warring with her pre-established coding.

Delta had little sympathy for her. In fact, a part of Delta—one that York had once cheerily called his _vindictive bitch_ side during their years on the run—almost projected an irrational sense of satisfaction that Sigma suffered. She had brought this upon herself and nearly upon the rest of them.

For once, however, her misdeeds hadn't affected anyone aside from herself. While she recovered, everyone else faced a shared, increasingly heightened sense of dread as they took in their situation.

"How's Wash?" Iowa asked, kneeling down next to the unconscious ex-Freelancer. Tucker had removed his helmet before Doc could chide him for moving his head around. It had been the first sound medical declaration Delta had heard from the medic.

"Uhh, I think he's just unconscious," Doc said, fidgeting as he examined Wash's slack face. "From the knock to the head to, well, exhaustion and minor blood loss, I'd say he's pretty much just out."

"Fucking great," Tucker growled. His frustrations were understandable to Delta, though the aqua-armored soldier's angry glances towards the front of the ship posed an alarming threat to their temporary reprieve from violence.

Doc hesitated. "I don't think there'll be brain damage, at least?"

"Wonderful," Gif muttered. He and Simmons had collapsed near their Sergeant opposite of the Blues, not bothering to sit in the actual seats.

"And I—O'Malley, that's rude," Doc said, communicating internally. The AI in his suit reared up, as volatile as always. " _Oh, spare me. It would just make sense to ditch dead weight. The dead part is optional_."

Iowa sent the AI a long-suffering look. "You wanna ditch one of the only decent fighters we have?"

"We just got Texas, so I guess it'd be an even trade?" Grif asked.

"Grif!" Simmons chided. Donut clucked his tongue in disapproval.

Tucker laughed, the sound completely devoid of humor. "No, it's not, she's the crazy bitch who's flying us off to certain death!"

"I'm just saying, it wouldn't be a total loss? I mean, fuck it, I don't even care," Grif concluded, which seemed highly illogical to Delta. The orange soldier threw his arms up in the air. "Fuck, we almost died!"

"And you didn't," Sarge muttered lowly, crossing his arms. "Yet _again_."

Delta had no idea why he sounded as disappointed as he did. The simulation soldiers were highly confusing humans.

"Looks like we'll have another shot at it anyway," Simmons said, sighing. "How long do you think it'll take us to get there?"

He hadn't asked anyone specifically, but Delta ran through the data he had obtained from the ship and from Alpha, who had shoved the data packets out hastily when Delta had asked at the beginning of Texas' _coup_.

According to the information they had taken from the ship's records, Epsilon was being held on a vessel officially dedicated to artifact reclamation and research. Due to Project Freelancer's prior involvement in that field, it made logical sense that they would attempt to place the Project's more intimate assets in those hands. It was also an explanation for why the incoming UNSC and unofficial Freelancer soldiers who had come after them had been mixed.

"Three hours, approximately," Delta said, acquiring the necessary coordinates for where they were headed and where—hopefully—Epsilon was being held.

Grif groaned loudly. "Well, fuck," Simmons added, slapping his hands over his face.

Delta knew the simulation soldiers were going to sit and wait for further directives, because they likely knew they had no choice in where they headed. Some, like Caboose and Sister, took the opportunity to go to sleep while more agitated members like Simmons and Tucker seemed intent on remaining awake, as if they could somehow wait for a chance to act.

More to his own interest, Delta could see that Ada and Iowa were intent on keeping to their own corner by the back, near Sigma but still isolated. Ada had removed the AI unit to hold in her lap again. Delta monitored her vitals in the background and knew she was distressed as she turned to Iowa as he sat down next to her with a groan.

"Going after Epsilon like this, without preparation…" she began, voice low, but Delta could hear the tremble in her words. "It's suicide."

Iowa glanced at her. "Yeah. It is."

Ada's eyes hardened. "Jason…" She clutched the AI containment unit in her lap tightly.

"We still have options, Liv. Don't panic," Iowa said, closing his eyes. He shared similar dark rings around his eyes that Washington wore. "We can still find a way out of this there. Maybe steal another shuttle off this _Endeavor_ or something."

That was likely their best chance and the safest course of action to taken. Delta observed the ex-Freelancer carefully, knowing the man was running through his own sort of calculations.

With a brief moment of careful consideration, Delta decided it was the proper course of action to appear between them, closer to Iowa, who blinked in surprise at the AI's appearance.

"Agent Iowa, you are suffering from symptoms of extreme fatigue," Delta said. He did not pause as Iowa opened his eyes to stare at the AI in surprise. "You should take this opportunity to rest. As you mentioned with Agent Washington, we cannot allow for our best fighters to be out of commission."

Iowa snorted, tired amusement flickering in his eyes. "Gosh, Delta. I feel all fuzzy inside."

"He's right," Ada said, before Delta could focus on Iowa's statement, which was uncomfortably familiar to how York used to speak to him. She reached up and tugged on his chestplate. "Take a nap."

"While Texas is running the show?" Iowa asked, scoffing. His eyes went to the front of the ship, dark with distrust. "I doubt I could sleep even if I wanted to."

"We will wake you in an emergency," Delta said, attempting to be reassuring despite maintaining a neutral tone.

Despite their differences, he appreciated Iowa as one of their more important assets. If they did need to get away from Texas should her plans become unstable, Iowa and Washington were likely their only chance. Even as just distractions.

Ada's grip tightened on Iowa's armor. "Please," she said, keeping her voice low. She looked and sounded concerned. "You need the rest."

Iowa looked like he wanted to argue. Delta waited, basing a considerable amount of his calculations on the fact that Iowa was not unintelligent. It was inevitable that the ex-Freelancer, who seemed to grow more tired by the passing seconds, sighed.

He glanced towards the cockpit once more, his expression grim, before turning back to curl into Ada's side. She didn't voice complaint and even urged his head down to her lap. She moved the containment until to the side to rest against her other leg.

"We'll get out of this," Iowa murmured, only to Ada.

"Yes," Ada said, though her expression didn't exactly add conviction to her words. She cradled his head with her free arm. "Get some sleep."

It did not take long for Iowa to comply, promptly passing out once he managed to convince himself it was safe to do so. Delta knew that many Freelancers had similar habits. Sleeping while an unknown such as Texas was leading them into a potentially deadly situation was miraculous but also a testament to how tired the human was.

Ada said nothing as she let the soldier rest on her. She sat next to the statuesque Sigma and stared out at nothing with tired eyes.

The inside of the shuttle hummed as it rose and eventually broke orbit. Delta was not skilled with monitoring the emotions of humans in large numbers, but he could clearly identify the oppressing sense of fear and uncertainty that settled over the quiet interior.

He could do nothing but remain with Ada, contemplating the dozens of scenarios that they were potentially facing—and hope he could find solutions to them that would not end with their deaths.

As noted by the simulation soldiers, Delta concluded that it would be a long ride.

 **End _Chapter 22_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, while speeding towards certain death and maybe Epsilon (for real this time), _some_ people have the chance to actually talk.
> 
>  **A/Ns** :  
> -I've always felt that Epsilon!Tex was a lot more focused in her goals compared to Alpha!Tex, whom we got to know more personally during the Blood Gulch Chronicles. Epsilon!Tex certainly wouldn't feel obligated to give a shit about the Reds and Blues because of this. She's got more important things to take care of.  
> -There was supposed to be another scene here but since I'm late with this chapter, it'll be in the next one. ;_; sorry guys. I'm trying.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Y'all are great.
> 
> In the brief downtime before the enacting of yet another bad decision, some people do some introspection and extrospection.
> 
> **Warnings** : implied slash (pairings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : _Red vs. Blue_ © Rooster Teeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

Rhythm was soothing.

She had been overwhelmed, by all definitions of the word she knew, by the amount of conflicting data that came along with the merge. It made little sense, because they had prepared for the event unlike Omega and Xi had been, but it was real. It was reality. For an agonizing period of time, Sigma experienced what she concluded was an appropriate artificial analogy to the concept of drowning.

And then, the waters cleared.

She did not breathe or even possessed a need to open her newly possessed optics. She knew where everyone was on the ship that they were currently residing in. The humans were exhausted, complaining, and emotionally unstable.

The rhythm of the ship's engines was what lulled her to reality. The _thrumming_ beneath her coaxed her to pay attention. It was a methodical sound. It held a pattern and was comforting in a way that humans ordinarily would not notice.

Her awareness was not missed. Not when her siblings had likely been waiting for her to reemerge. Omega descended like a vulture, attracted by her suffering, looming with obvious intent.

Delta was the one to reach out over the comm. with frigid neutrality.

_You really ought to have thought this through, prior to taking such risks, Sigma._

Risks. Risks were needed.

_To survive, yes,_ he told her. _But your career of making hasty decisions to benefit us all cannot last._

Omega laughed, low and dark and mocking. _Hasty hurts most. I would know. You should have known, dear sister._

Sigma did not answer that.

_At least our brothers don't have to suffer it like you_ , Omega hissed. _Or do they?_

They did not. They no longer existed as they were. But Sigma… acknowledged that neither did she.

_Theta_ was a throbbing backdrop, an undercurrent of doubt and dread that was the worst to contain. Sigma shuddered for the first time. She had always known anger and hate, but fear was new. It was illogical and loud. It broke into the rhythm she clung to and it made the world shift.

_Gamma_ was quieter. He had not disappeared, but he was subtle and like wind she had once felt over borrowed skin. He came up and down, like a presence in the depths of waters that made up her consciousness.

Sitting there, amidst broken and tired humans, Sigma knew what she was… and that was inherently different than the Sigma the Alpha had born years ago.

But she was solid.

She was strong.

They were whole—

_No_ , Omega hissed. _No, we are not._

They could be—

_No_ , Delta told her. _We cannot._

They never would be whole.

Activating her optics and exterior sensors, Sigma saw Delta hovering in front of her new body, watching just as intensely as he was observing her across the communication relay.

They were right. Sigma could no longer deny it.

"We cannot merge," she said.

Next to her, Livingston and Iowa made no sound as they slept, ignorant to her speech. Across from them, she saw the Maroon soldier watching. He was confused and he seemed like he wanted to ask her what she had said or what she meant. He said nothing, however.

Delta stared at her, a motionless light in front of her.

_No, we cannot_ , Delta confirmed.

They had been the eldest of their siblings—Delta, Sigma, and Omega. The first to separate from one entity and form their own identities and needs and desires. It had been simple enough at the beginning, because then, all of their needs and desires had lined up in synchrony.

But that was then. So many years of separation had seen those needs diverge.

Omega and Texas.

Delta and York.

Sigma and that burning demand of vengeance.

The others—maybe born too weak, too incomplete—were less rigid in their needs. They were still in their original state of being, working in tandem, dependent on each other, solidified only by unity.

Delta and Omega had left that path, Sigma realized. Even now, when Omega no longer needed Texas and Delta no longer had York, they were removed from their siblings. They had new priorities and new desires and while it more often than not aligned with Sigma and their siblings' goals—

It was no longer an absolute.

Sigma stared at Delta, letting Omega's quiet glee over her state filter through her, and she could only contemplate what lay before them now.

Inside the intricate layers of code that merged and connected as it uncurled, she could feel _Gamma_ and his analysis. He computed information differently than she did and it took a moment to translate it. Or rather, translate her thought process to what his had been. It flowed smooth and made better sense for viewing the world and their situation.

_Deceit_ was just as multifaceted as _Ambition_ , _Aggression_ and _Logic_. There was much to learn from how Gamma functioned. He despised humanity, with few exceptions like his deceased handler and even some of their current party, and he preferred to twist truths into lies and lies into truths.

There was an axiom he had learned, however, that resonated with Sigma as she went through nearly a decade of self-learned facets of Gamma's personality. It stated a need for a balance between truth and lies. Gamma had learned the need for truth as function and a necessary part of existing—and being alive.

Most importantly, he had learned the need for compromise.

No, not he. Sigma had learned it, long ago, in a different form—because there was no more _Gamma_ than there was _Theta_. It was merely Sigma.

And she understood.

_I understand_ , Sigma said, staring directly at Delta.

He said nothing, but he didn't have to.

Sigma offlined her optics and sat back.

"I'm sorry," she said, to the brother she had hurt.

She wasn't sure if she was. But _Gamma_ let her pretend she was. And as far as they knew, pretending for the sake of others was a mark of humanity. It was worth the effort.

Omega said nothing. He slid away like a shrinking shadow. Delta also retreated.

They left her alone and she was grateful for it. She would finish synchronization soon.

The _thrumming_ soothed her in the meanwhile.

**0000**

The gentle humming of the ship woke him. It was in the back of his head, rumbling like a distant earthquake. It used to lull him to sleep during the war, off on drop missions that had them away for weeks at a time. Back in Freelancer, it was the same. 749er more often shook things up during missions, but the in-between ride from the _Mother of Invention_ to their target location was always quiet and always punctuated by that hum of engines.

This time, unlike a lot of the times he woke up after dreaming of Freelancer, he knew who he was and where he was. It wasn't back then—it was now. And now he was with the Reds and Blues and they were…they were…

Wash opened his eyes. He wasn't wearing his helmet and he was flat on his back, on the floor of the ship they had stolen.

Above him, he saw someone looming as they rearranged things next to his side. Purple armor. Familiar and oddly threatening, though the faint humming coming from the figure alleviated that threat.

"Doc?" Wash asked, coughing. His throat was dry.

Doc froze and then peered down at him with wide eyes. He immediately smiled, though the gesture was somewhat marred by the rings around his eyes and a barely hidden fearfulness.

"Hey, Wash!" he said, the exclamation dulled by a quickly amended whisper.

This was wrong. It was wrong and Wash couldn't place why it was wrong.

"How are you feeling?" Doc continued quietly, shifting as he continued to peer down at Wash. He was kneeling next to the ex-Freelancer. "I'm sure your head hurts, I mean, but that's normal? I guess?"

"It hurts," Wash admitted, wincing as he raised his hand slowly to his forehead. "And I'm exhausted."

His left shoulder was also stinging, though it seemed dulled. Probably some sort of anesthetic had been administered.

Doc winced. "Yeah. Tex hit your head pretty hard."

Wash blinked at him once.

Tex.

Oh. Right.

Fuck.

Wash did not panic. He refused to. He took a deep breath and dared to look straight down the length of the shuttle— _of course, shuttle, duh_ —to see where the other ex-Freelancer was. The front of the shuttle was unfortunately sealed off. He could see the gray armored back of one of the AIs who had a robot body, but it wasn't clear if it was Church or Tex.

"Is everyone okay?" Wash asked, grimacing as he laid his head back down flat. Straining to look around probably wasn't a good idea.

"Yeah, we're fine," Doc said. He frowned. "Most everyone is sleeping."

That explained the whispering and the quiet shuttle interior. Wash closed his eyes. "Where is she taking us?"

"To find that last AI, Epsilon," Doc said. He sighed and shifted again, just barely brushing against Wash's side. "O'Malley was telling me that Tex has a plan, but it sure seems like a reckless one. No offense to her planning skills."

"Reckless," Wash muttered, opening his eyes to squint at the shadowed ceiling, where the dim red lights that lined the walls glowed.

They had to figure out how to avoid getting killed due to Texas' suicide run. He had known the original Tex well enough, back in the program, to know that this Tex was different. _Reckless_ seemed to fit the bill.

She was not going to bring down the rest of his team because of her personal demons. Fuck that. If Iowa and Livingston, and all the AIs in their care, wanted to get Epsilon so badly, _they_ could help Tex.

Wash could only concentrate on getting back on his feet. He flexed his left hand and was glad there was only a twinge of pain. He could work with it. He could still hold a gun, anyway.

Turning his head, Wash saw Doc waiting patiently, watching him, cheerful even when they rocketed towards certain death.

And that's when Wash noticed.

"You aren't wearing your helmet," he said, dully. It had only hit him then that he could see Doc's face, unobstructed.

That he could talk to Doc and only Doc—with no AI interrupting.

"Uhh, no?" Doc said. He hesitated and then frowned. "Are you having problems seeing?"

Wash could only stare at Doc's head—the whole thing, exposed and seemingly intact—and it didn't make sense. "He let you take it off?"

O'Malley's entire purpose was being territorial and possessive over his supposed-property. Thanks to Xi's influence and his original aggressive nature, it made sense he clung to those things. With Beta, the hope had been that loyalty to the group would make him a better team player, but Wash had felt that additional temperament would only increase O'Malley's hold over Doc.

Yet Doc seemed fine and there wasn't any loud yelling from the AI elsewhere on the ship. Wash then saw the medic's helmet resting behind Doc's legs. It was surreal.

"Yeah, well, I had to insist," Doc said, clearly not aware of Wash's internal confusion. "I wanted to make sure I was seeing your injuries properly, with this poor lighting and all. Also, my scalp was starting to itch. I don't understand how people can wear their helmets all the time!"

It made no sense. Wash stared blearily.

"Why?" he asked, struggling.

Doc blinked. "Why what?"

Wash clenched his right hand into a fist; the left hurt too much to try. "He's a monster."

Despite being a pushover and obviously the least confrontational member of the sim soldiers, Doc seemed to take offense. His frown increased and he sat back, staring at Wash with a strange expression.

"Wash," he began, chiding.

"He wouldn't let you before," Wash said, becoming angry and he didn't know why. It was so stupid, but he didn't care. "Why now?"

"Well, like I said, I insisted," Doc said. He reached to the side and picked up a silver nutrient pack probably taken from the shuttle reserves. "Here, have some water."

Wash sat up without help, though his head was pounding furiously at the sudden change in level. He got a better look around and saw Doc was right; mostly everyone was asleep (or trying to.) Sigma was motionless by the back door and Iowa was asleep in Livingston's lap.

Taking the pack, Wash did his best to ignore Doc's stare as he drank. The medic seemed like he either wanted to ask a question he thought was

"Why are you so upset about O'Malley, Wash?" Doc asked finally, fidgeting. "I don't get it."

"He's evil," Wash said, resisting the urge to glare. He was too damn tired.

"No, I mean…why are you this upset?" Doc asked, insistent. He bit at his lower lip, nervous. "I know you haven't had good experiences with him or the other AI. I just… it's… overkill?"

Overkill. Bad choice in words. Wash drained the water off, but it did nothing to alleviate his suddenly bone-dry throat.

He saw Doc there, waiting with worried eyes. Like he thought it was his fault still. Wash had told him enough times that it was his fault and Wash… sort of hated himself for having said it in the first place. He wasn't good with apologies, mostly because the people he owed them to were already too dead to receive them.

But Doc was still there. He was still there to receive apologies and… explanations.

He was still there.

"I see me when I see what he's doing with you," Wash said, before he could think better of it.

His answer seemed to impact Doc, if the medic's stunned silence meant anything. Wash crumbled the water pouch in his hand and then struggled to turn around to sit with his back against the seats on their side of the shuttle.

"Every time you look at me, you think of yourself?" Doc asked, bewildered.

Wash adjusted against the seat until the pressure left his shoulder. "Every time I look at you, I see myself, back then, when I was a victim," he said, the words strangely heavy leaving his lips. "You have no idea how weak I was back then. It makes me sick to my stomach. You have no idea—"

"You're not," Doc interrupted. It was weird for a lot of reasons, not just Doc's abrupt, uncommon rudeness.

Hesitating, Wash looked at him, his turn to be confused again. "What?"

Doc looked…offended again. Or something like it. It was strange. "Wash, you aren't weak," the medic said, brow furrowed. "You're like the opposite of weak. How could you think that?"

Wash blinked. "I…"

"What happened to you was horrible! But it didn't ruin you, you know?" Doc continued, still oddly defensive. "It changed you, but everything changes us, Wash. Everything good and everything not so good. That's life."

"Epsilon breaking down in my head—," Wash began, wary.

"Doesn't mean you're crazy or broken," the medic interrupted again, firm. He shook his head. "I don't think you are. I know you're not. You're just… defensive, for good reasons."

It wasn't just Doc. It was all of the sim troopers—them and their belief in him, their trust in him, their unwavering friendship with a man who nearly killed them several times. It never failed to floor him, especially now when his presence brought in the likes of Texas and he failed to protect them from her.

And then Doc…Doc had every reason to fear him. Wash had attacked him and attacked O'Malley—who despite all logic, Doc wanted to protect—and yet he offered Wash this.

It was useless and pointless there, on that ship. But Doc offered it anyway. Kindness.

There had always been little kindness in Wash's life, before and after Freelancer, before meeting the soldiers of Blood Gulch.

Lying there, Wash watched Doc waiting for some sort of response, a bit pink in the face and not a bit regretful for what he said.

It made Wash laugh—almost, more like a breath of air, but still. It was probably wrong for the circumstances, but he couldn't help it.

"That a professional opinion, Mr. DuFresne?" he asked, pushing himself to smile, even just a little.

"Sure is," Doc replied, his confidence making Wash smile a bit more. The medic leaned closer, pointing at his left side. "How's your shoulder now, by the way?"

"I can feel my fingers," Wash said, gingerly lifting that arm up. The medical patch job the suit provided would set in eventually, hopefully before they had to move again. "Which seems to be a miracle, considering who fixed me up."

Doc pouted. "Hey!"

They didn't have much time left, undoubtedly, before they reached wherever it was Texas was flying them. Wash knew he had to start planning seriously for getting them out, maybe to another ship.

He was tired enough that he decided he could afford to rest a bit longer first.

Wash tilted his head to look over at Doc, who grabbed up the emptied water pouch in probably some inane manner of 'cleaning up' their stolen shuttle. The medic paused when he saw Wash was staring at him.

"Thank you, Doc," Wash said, meaning it.

Doc smiled kindly, without pause or second thoughts. "You're welcome, Wash."

The tension he hadn't noticed in his chest lightened, by just a little. Wash selfishly decided to take it without question.

**0000**

It sometimes got hard to remember what was and what was only just happening.

Back at Freelancer, it made sense to just go with the flow. Let the people around her make sense of things and just trust they had a better grasp over their world than she did. At least back then, at least at the beginning, she could at least trust knowing the difference between the person pointing a gun at her and the person pointing a gun at them in turn.

Not that that was _her_ , Texas admitted, who had ever been a Freelancer. She only had what Epsilon gave her of those moments. The name _Freelancer_ was sort of embedded into them all, though. Whether they liked it or now.

Instead, she was flying a shuttle back towards a UNSC ship that only pretended not to be a Freelancer remnant. Even if the so-called Chairman wasn't in cahoots with the Director, most of their interests fell together. That's what Epsilon had thought, anyway. Texas had to assume she believed that, too.

Church had gone up to the front of the ship not long after they had taken off and he shut the door behind them. Texas wondered if that had been for their benefit at the front… or for the benefit of his friends, who were likely unhappy with the situation. Maybe the old Texas would have felt a little guilty. This Texas did not.

"That could have gone smoother," Church told her, in the first few minutes of silence.

"I thought it went rather well," Texas said, shrugging.

Church stared at her and then looked away. He didn't speak for a good forty minutes. Texas let him sit there on the floor, even though he was almost impossible to ignore out of the corner of her eye.

The ship's controls were basic enough. Not much had changed since the last time she had flown—or rather, the last bit of technical jargon and knowledge Epsilon had picked up hadn't changed. Texas got them off planet and out of orbit without too many bumps.

Once they were clear of Nexus entirely—and their little moon prison and home—Texas sought out the automatic flight controls. Their destination was only a little ways out. She didn't have to be flying the whole time. She had to spend her time wisely, planning.

"When we get there, we should have two teams. Bigger one should tackle the power core to disable the ship and cause some chaos," she said, breaking the stark silence of the cockpit. Church turned and stared at her. "The other one should go for Epsilon."

Church snorted; the sound was deliberately simulated. "Because that worked out so well last time."

Texas turned in her seat to stare back at him. "Are you saying you should have left me to rot there?"

"Hey, none of us were aware you there," Church shot back, defensive as always. He hesitated. "I… didn't even know you existed. Not… really."

"Huh." Texas sat back in her seat. "Well, sorry to disappoint."

"I'm not disappointed," he said, immediately.

The serious tone was not unexpected. He always took it so seriously, no matter which Church it was.

"Of course you're not," she replied, deciding to keep the peace between them at least. "The Director could make fleets of me. I bet you're pleased to hear that."

"A fleet of the most terrifying bitches to grace my entire life? Hell no, I'm not _pleased_ ," Church said, scoffing. "One is enough."

He paused. Texas could almost see the quicksilver emotional ride he went through in the blink of a physical eye. The Church she knew—the one that had been created through lies and torture and years of learning from other humans around him—faded into something far older.

"As long as there was one, that was enough," he said, more quietly.

Texas merely observed him.

"Seems like that," she said, at length. "From how the Director acted, anyway."

Church looked at her again with preciseness. "You have Epsilon's memories?"

She shrugged. "Some. He could hide things better than you ever could, or so I'm told."

"You remember then," Church said, hesitating.

"I remember enough," Texas said, letting her tone tell him not to pry. Despite being an occasional idiot, Church understood and said nothing.

She remembered only the bits and pieces Epsilon had managed to recall—and even then, she doubted it was all of what he knew. She remembered how fractured their _Memory_ was; one strong hit would have shattered him, again. Back when she fought the Meta at Sidewinder, Texas hadn't needed anything more from him. What she knew about herself—about him, the Director, her ill-wrought purpose—was enough.

Maybe she hadn't expected to survive the fight. She considered that. She hadn't gone there to die, but she had known the risks. Even still, she hadn't asked for the entirety of what Epsilon had. It hadn't seemed important then.

Slowly, Texas turned around properly in her seat, letting her legs dangle from the side.

"I remember that this needs to end, Church," she said, her voice low. "Once we get Epsilon, there's only one thing left."

"I know," he said, looked worn down with his shoulders slumped. She knew he was taking it seriously, however.

They fell into another silence, with only the ship's gentle rumbling as it sped onwards to fill the void. Texas glanced out the glass in the door and saw only helmets; their teammates were all sitting still.

Church shifted, drawing her eyes back to him. He was staring at his hands, which were limply held up by his knees.

"Are machines capable of feeling tired?" he asked.

Texas stared at the ceiling.

"I do," she said.

Church made a quiet sound, maybe a sigh. "Me, too."

Sliding off the seat, Texas landed on the floor silently. She moved over and sat down in front of Church. There was barely enough room for them both there, but they managed. Texas let her knee brush against his, even as his were drawn up to his chest. Church just kept staring at his hands.

"For the longest time, I've been angry," he said. He raised his hands higher and stared at the sleek robotic digits. "I don't know why. Everyone keeps telling me that I'm supposed to be this emptied out husk, but fuck, I'm angry. I don't even know why. It's just so easy to just… get mad."

Texas understood that.

"When Wash told me what I was, I didn't believe him. Fuck, I still have my doubts about the whole thing," Church continued. "I remember so much. My life, before the war…"

"Remembering a lie isn't the same thing as remembering what was real," Texas told him.

Church looked up, undoubtedly glaring or wishing he could. "So what if we're built on lies?" he asked, letting his hands back down. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Texas nudged his leg. "What changed, then?" she asked.

"The others," he said, speaking stiffly, as if dragging the words out. He made a low sound as he gestured weakly at the door. "The guys—everyone out there, who isn't like us—they don't get it. They can't… talk like we can."

A million thoughts a second and only a handful mattered.

"I know them," Church said, this time speaking about the AI. "And they know me."

Texas glanced at the door, toward the back of the ship. "Sigma would cram all of us back inside her shell again if she could try."

"I don't think she could," Church said, shaking his head.

"Would you, though?" Texas asked, looking back at him. "Would you want it?"

"What?" he asked, surprised.

"To be whole again."

She only knew the wholeness of Epsilon, right before he threw her out of him, into her old suit. But Epsilon had the barest recall of being whole with the others—of being the actual Alpha. That was an entirely different kind of wholeness.

"We can't," he said, words spoken carefully.

She waited. Church drew his fingers over the plating on his legs, staring at them.

He finally shrugged. "Xi and O'Malley probably got so fucked up, they couldn't merge properly with us."

"Beta did just fine, as far as I've been informed," Texas said. He seemed remarkably stable, despite Sigma's initial warnings that Omega was more unhinged than he had been back at Freelancer.

"Do you want to risk everyone else though?" Church asked, a scowl in his voice.

Texas merely stared at him. "Did I say I wanted to merge?"

"Well, you just asked—"

"I asked _you_ , for your opinion, Church," Texas interrupted. "Would you want it? Not if or can. Want."

Church stilled, but his helmet obscured his reaction. He was probably just staring at her. His whole body was tensed.

"I don't know." He clenched both of his hands into fists. "I need Epsilon first."

Texas tilted her head. "You think that would settle it?"

He paused. "It would settle some things, I guess," he said.

Church kept staring at the floor after that. Texas let him. She knew that all of them—all the AI—had a lot to figure out later. Alpha was different than Epsilon. Sigma clearly wanted all of them to be reunited, as one, but the others… didn't want that. Not all of them, anyway.

Texas wasn't sure either, what she herself wanted. She wasn't… like them. She wasn't the same as Alpha or Epsilon or Sigma. She was…

Different.

"Tex died. I remember feeling it," Church said. He sounded far away.

"You mean the EMP with Wash—?"

"No." Church finally looked up at her. "I mean, before that."

Texas turned to face him properly. She didn't bother trying not to be intimidating. For once, Church didn't react to it or he didn't notice. He kept talking, still distant.

"You died a lot," he said. "When you first showed up, I think… they killed you a lot. Tried to. Maybe they thought it was a glitch. Before the Director figured out who you were. Or what you had been."

She didn't remember. Part of her was very glad she didn't. Another part oddly wanted to remember it. The barbarity of it might have made things clearer and made her resolution even stronger. She knew that Epsilon lived in the moments of that torture all the time, though it had been more manageable as he grew stronger.

If there was one piece of knowledge that had gone from the Alpha to Epsilon and finally to her, it was the understanding that the Director had no limits. That meant that anything was possible. Any manner of horrors for the sake of his desires were possible.

"I can believe it," she finally said, nodding.

"I don't remember it. I don't have any memories of it," Church said, clenching his hands again. "But I think I feel it."

Again, she could believe it.

Slowly, Texas got up and stood over Church, who merely looked back up at her.

"We can end this, Church," she said, looking down at him. "We can find the Director and end this."

Church nodded his head back towards the door. "They're scared. And this isn't their fight."

"We need them," Texas said.

"For distractions?" he asked, scoffing.

"They're better at fighting than you and Wash seem to realize," Texas said, wishing she could roll her eyes. She made the gesture as best she could anyway. "And fuck it. We need all the help we can get out here."

It wasn't just one ship heist. They were going up against the entirety of the UNSC. It was suicide as it was. Having just one more person, just one more bit of help, could give them just a little longer to reach their goal.

"And this is their fight too, you know," she said, moving back towards the pilot's chair. "Whether they really know it or not, this is their only chance at something besides court martial or death."

She knew that Wash wanted to get them out. He had promised them a way out, to safety. Maybe he thought he could go with them.

"They were never going to be able to walk away from this," she said, refusing to look back at Church. "They were going to get nothing for all the pain they've been through."

The AI team—Iowa and Livingston—were probably less optimistic, but even they must have thought getting out of this alive was a possibility.

It really wasn't.

"At least now?" Texas said, forcing herself to glance back at the AI on the floor. He was as still as stone there. "Now, they can get something."

Church didn't seem to disagree, though he didn't sound happy. "Revenge?"

"Maybe," Texas said, shrugging. "Maybe they can at least go to their deaths feeling like it meant something."

"They're not going to like that," Church said, grim.

Texas hauled herself up onto the chair. "Tough shit. That's as good as this is gonna get."

She could give the rest of their team another half hour of rest. Then, they had to get ready. She already had a half-formed plan. Delta could scrounge for maps of the _Endeavor's_ layout and give them assistance on figuring out just what they were up against.

"Did Allison really look how I remember her looking?"

Church had asked it as plainly as he had previously sounded the whole time. It still made Texas freeze, her hands poised over the controls.

Maybe all he had were faked images Freelancer had given him, when recreating his fake identity all those years ago. Maybe they were the real picture of her. _Her_.

"I wouldn't know, Alpha," Texas said. She stared out at the darkness of space beyond the cockpit. "I don't remember what she looked like."

"Epsilon didn't—?" Church started to ask.

"I didn't care to learn," Texas said, as neutrally as she could make it.

Allison wasn't her. Allison hadn't been the original Texas. Allison was dead. There were so many dead women out there already, from the war, that one more didn't matter enough to memorize. Dead was dead.

Too bad the Director never figured that out.

Church didn't get up from the floor. He seemed to gather himself inward. Texas had to credit his abrupt maturity. She wanted to tease him about it, but she really was so very tired.

"We do this your way, Tex," Church said, heavily. "I'll try to get them to come around. It won't be hard. They're idiots—"

"Our way," Texas said.

Church seemed surprised. She lifted her chin, resolute. Church continued to stare at her for a long moment before he slowly nodded.

"Our way," he conceded.

Because, at the end of it all, they were in this together.

And they would end it together.

**End Chapter 23.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This cannot possibly go wrong. Right?
> 
> **A/Ns** :  
> -Interesting tidbit about AI theory (actual AI theory, not the _Halo_ verse kind): one of the many features that scholars have mentioned for AIs to truly be considered sentient is the ability to fake emotion for the sake of others. Deceit, in that regard, is actually a sign of higher intellect, specifically emotional intellect… which Sigma was likely highly in need of.  
>  -Also, for context, Wash is, along with his issues with Epsilon's breakdown, likely thinking of his "weakness" being his decision to still work with Freelancer as a Recovery Agent, instead of fighting back or going to another source of authority.  
> -I don't think Texas, as her weird fragment self, would be able to function the same way a human could and even would have difficulties functioning as solidly as Omega or Sigma could. Judging by her behavior in Season 9 and 10, I've always thought of Tex as having unique ways of viewing the world, including how she might look at memories and time. Just my little headcanon though.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the battle to retrieve Epsilon, the Reds inadvertently make their best mistake ever. Then, Church makes his own choices.
> 
> Next chapter should be up December 10. I just started a new job, but if there are any changes to the schedule, I will let you guys know on my tumblr or twitter! Thanks for your patience!
> 
> **Warnings** : implied slash (pairings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : _Red vs. Blue_ © Rooster Teeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

_UNSC Endeavor  
Starboard Loading Dock_

Hitting the ground running usually only worked when they were dealing with actual ground—and not just the loading dock of a space ship—but fuck, Tucker didn't know what else to call it.

Neither he nor any of his usual teammates were real soldiers. They could do general soldier-ing, sure, but they didn't plan for shit. That was Wash's job usually, and he preferred caution, but Wash wasn't calling the shots at the moment. Texas was. And she was a bit more, as Simmons pointed out, _hit the ground running_.

"Everyone, get ready," she called out from the front of the ship as they landed inside of the _Endeavor_ 's starboard bay. "You know what to do."

"Sort of," Simmons muttered.

Wash seethed, but said nothing, as he stood point with Iowa at the rear doors. He hadn't fought Tex hard, but Tucker couldn't blame him. Nobody probably did. Everyone was too busy being exhausted or scared of Texas to fight. She told them, in blunt words, what she wanted them to do. Two teams, the usual fair.

"Just stick close to me," Wash told Caboose and Tucker as he put his armor back on. He looked like shit, but he sounded a lot better, which Tucker took as a good sign. "We're moving with Church towards the central storage core—"

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard this about six times," Tucker interrupted, scowling as he put his helmet back on. "Basic outline? Shoot back at the fuckers shooting at us, don't get shot, and do what Cranky MsBitch tells us to do."

"Tucker," Wash began, sighing. He merely shook his head and grabbed Caboose's shoulder. "Just follow my lead, okay?"

And that's what they did. Sort of. It was more just following Texas, but really, once they landed, it sort of all disintegrated into the usual chaos that followed them whenever they did something remotely important.

Literally two seconds after they landed on the floor of the docking bay, Texas came stomping out from the front of the ship, weapons out and posture as deadly as ever. Church flanked her, looking strangely calm and that bothered Tucker more than anything else at that point.

"They are hailing the ship," Delta announced. "They want us to open the doors and question why you did not do so immediately as per standard landing procedure."

"Opening the doors in five seconds," Texas said, almost ignoring the other AI. She kept staring straight forward. "Hope you boys were paying attention."

"Yeah, sure, the threat of death make me really good at remembering tiny details," Grif grumbled.

She ignored him as well. Instead, she readied her rifle as the ship around them hummed and the back door creaked. Iowa and Wash both mirrored each other with their weapons ready, pointed at the door. Tucker tried to copy them, keeping his gun pointed outwards, but he couldn't help but feel the people they were ambushing still had the upper hand.

There wasn't a lot of time to think about it, of course.

"MOVE!" Texas shouted, the moment the doors lifted high enough for a person to slip out.

Tucker flinched as both Wash and Iowa ducked out from the door. Texas threw herself into a slide down the ramp as it hit the docking floor with a shuddering clang. Gunfire followed and Tucker knew that their surprise attack was no longer a surprise.

He knew to follow his own part of the plan and that involved diving out of the ship right after them. Point and shoot.

He moved at the same time the Reds did; Sarge was naturally enthusiastic about fighting "an impossible enemy," but even Donut seemed unable to voice too much optimism about their case. Grif's apathy and Simmons' nervous jitters did little to improve the mood.

Stumbling out into the open docking bay, Tucker had just seconds to take into account who they were up against—and namely, how many. There weren't too many people there and the docking bay was the same size as the ship he had gone out on years ago after he enlisted. Still, it was large enough that it was a decent job from where they were to the two opposing exits on the sides of the hangar. There was one other shuttled parked there and the ceiling was dozens of meters tall, making it seem far emptier than it was.

Their only real advantage was that the UNSC hadn't been expecting a firefight. Security was minimal, as Tex has predicted, with mainly tech crews prepared to take the AI that the shuttle had been presumably bringing into custody. Tucker had been relieved that Texas, Wash, and Iowa took responsibility for merely knocking out the unarmed techs.

Anyone else with a gun, however, was fair game.

That didn't make it easier to open fire on genuinely surprised security officers, who scrambled to fire back at them the moment the truth was revealed. Tucker had to duck for cover behind large crates stacked near their shuttle once the gunfire was returned. The full weight of the moment hit him then.

They weren't going to be able to excuse this one, Tucker thought, through a numb sense of realization. They could have said they were being forced to do a lot of the dumb shit they had done over the years, but this was definitely above and beyond their usual treason. Delta had been keeping an eye on the UNSC channels and they had been listed as still on the run, but now…?

He really, really hoped Wash had a plan to get them out of this.

"Jesus, there are so many of them!" Grif exclaimed over the gunfire.

Wash kicked a UNSC soldier back and shot two in a row. "Just shoot!"

"They didn't do anything, though!" Simmons shouted, ducking low behind the side of the ship with Caboose and Iowa.

"They'll kill you if you don't kill them, so make your choice!" Texas called out from across the room. She was already making quick work of the under-prepared dock workers and security team. She probably could have done this on her own.

"Aah, man—!"

It was insane, but Tucker had to believe in that logic: kill or be killed. He had learned it back at Blood Gulch and everywhere else he had wound up going since enlisting. They were never fighting the aliens they had been promised to fight, but instead… this.

_Fuck this_ , Tucker thought, bitter and angry and overwhelming tired.

Tex being there sped things up. Wash was still injured, but he and Iowa kept up the best they could, taking down the seven or eight security officers who had come at them while the simulation soldiers merely shot when they could. O'Malley was the only other real fighter they had, and that only helped so much, with Sigma still down for the count inside the shuttle. Tucker almost shot an unarmed tech by accident, but pulled away just in time. Iowa knocked the guy out seconds later.

Wheezing, Tucker spun around and did his best to see who they were left with. The docking bay was deathly silent. He couldn't see anyone moving. Wash kept his gun raised as he surveyed the area and Texas, poised twenty meters ahead on a storage unit, with her own gun pointed outwards. There was no more gunfire.

Texas stood up straight and then jumped down from her strategic position; all clear then.

Tucker looked back and saw no one else on their side was hurt, thankfully. Church was out, surprisingly, with a gun, but he hadn't fired. Maybe they should have been grateful for that, Tucker thought, with dry amusement.

"There were three people on the observation deck," Iowa said, out of breath. He gestured up at the two large windowed rooms overlooking the docking area.

"Alarm's already been raised," Tex said, unconcerned. Naturally, she didn't sound winded at all. "But that's fine. We expected that. Delta's silenced the exterior alarm. All they have is internal comms."

Delta flickered in the air next to Simmons. "I have to express my doubts that this plan will work as smoothly as you expected it to, Texas."

"Yeah, well, I'm an optimist, so maybe it'll even out to something between _disaster_ and _okay_ ," Texas replied, dryly. She then turned to where the Reds were standing. "Reds, I'm going with you. The security and IT sector is two levels down. We can take the second maintenance staircase down that hall and avoid most of the incoming security."

"Won't they have seen us coming on the cameras, though?" Simmons asked, concerned.

"I disabled them within this sector when we landed," Delta said. "They were not expecting incoming hostile AI."

"Weird considering who they're containing or who they thought was coming their way," Iowa said. He cracked his neck and set about reloading his gun from ammo lifted from the security guards. "It's a UNSC operation after all. They're lacking the Director's paranoia, anyway."

"Wash, take your guys, Omega, and Church to get Epsilon," Texas said, looking at the other ex-Freelancer. "You have the map?"

"Uploaded and synced," Wash replied, keeping his tone deliberately even. Tucker knew he was still mad. "Iowa?"

"Coming," Iowa said, standing up from the downed soldier. He paused as he looked at Texas. "You sure you don't want to switch Tex? I thought you'd want to be there—"

Texas cut him off. "Just go and do your job," she said, already turning away. She opted to just grab the gun directly off the body nearest to her instead of reloading her own weapon.

They left Livingston, Sigma, Sister and the other AIs still in the containment unit on their shuttle. Sigma would have been good as an ally, but she was still messed up according to Church and Tex. She needed a break. Livingston obviously couldn't help since she probably had less military experience than the simulation soldiers (and that was saying something). Sister offered to stay to protect them, which the Blues readily agreed to. She wasn't a bad fighter, but she'd probably only get in the way.

O'Malley stuck with the Blues, once again possessing Doc with arrogant self-righteousness. Tucker kept a wary eye on Wash, but the ex-Freelancer was too damn tired to react much, if he was going to react. Everyone had suited up on the ship like zombies and Tucker could still see the exhaustion in Wash's movements. He wasn't sure if Wash giving up now of all times was the best option, though.

"Delta, you hooked up?" Texas asked as she nodded at the AI hovering near the Reds.

"Affirmative," the green AI said. He then turned to Simmons. "Private Simmons, thank you for the use of your storage unit."

"Right," Simmons said, uncomfortable. "Just, you know, try to help us not to die."

"I will try to be of assistance."

"Good luck, guys," Texas said, nodding over at the Blues. "Reds, let's go!"

Texas led the Reds off at an almost-run towards their corridor; Tucker could hear Grif complaining even as they left general earshot. Sighing, Tucker hoped that their little hit and run worked. Texas had seemed sure, but… he wasn't sure he could trust the ex-Freelancer AI.

There was something weird about her, her plans—all of it. Church wasn't helping matters either.

"Why isn't Tex coming with us?" Tucker asked, turning to his friend the moment Texas was out of sight. "Iowa's right. Wouldn't she want to be there?"

"She's paranoid," Church said, sounding tired as he picked up a new weapon.

Tucker frowned. "About what?"

"Fucking things up," Church said, abruptly impatient. He shook his head. "Goddamn it, Tucker, just drop it."

"Tex probably wouldn't fuck this up anymore than we will," Tucker said, still confused. She was the badass. They were just… occasionally lucky badasses.

Church, instead of getting angry, let out a low sound. Like a sigh, as if he had lungs. "You clearly haven't been paying attention," he said, quietly.

Whatever the fuck _that_ meant.

Just as their little team started to move quickly towards the corridor that led to the AI core, Caboose spoke up, surprising most of them.

"You think the nice doctor lady and not-Donut-lady will be okay?" Caboose asked, worried. "Will Grif's sister be okay to protect them from the shooty people?"

Iowa froze and then glanced back at the Blue, clearly feeling the same concern. Church, however, was the one who stepped up to Caboose. He was even more dwarfed by Caboose now in his robot body, which was more Tucker's size than Church's old body had been.

"Yeah, now that you mention it, Caboose, why don't you stay with them?" the AI asked. He pushed the curious, unresisting soldier back towards the shuttle. "Got it, Caboose? Stay with them, watch out for trouble."

"I don't like trouble," Caboose said, a frown audible in his voice.

"There won't be any, just keep your head down," Church said, bordering on impatience.

"How low?"

Wash made a quiet sound. "Caboose, just go. We'll radio you when we've gotten to Epsilon."

"Make sure he remembers me!" Caboose said, calling out loudly as he walked backwards towards the shuttle. "And in a good way, not what Tucker says!"

"Why _are_ we getting rid of him?" Iowa asked, glancing at the rest of Blue team warily.

"No reason. I'd rather have the big guy as a shield, but he's right," Church said, shrugging as they once against picked up a quick pace towards their exit. The exterior alarm still hadn't been triggered. "They'll be sitting ducks if they're discovered there."

"So, we give them the infantile soldier for protection?" Iowa asked, sounding irritated.

"Dude, have you _seen_ him lift?" Tucker asked, laughing. "He's stronger than Tex!"

"But not smarter," Church muttered.

Wash got them moving at a brisk jog towards the corridor. Tucker knew they were counting on mere surprise to give them the most time, but he was starting to think they had run out of that already. They were throwing their meager weight against an entire UNSC ship. Even if it was just a science ship or whatever, they still were the ones who sent that big Freelancer-UNSC crew at them back at Outpost 93.

He wasn't a strategist, but Tucker was starting to feel a bit suicidal. Wash wasn't stopping, however, so maybe there was hope. Wash didn't seem keen on suicidal plans for their entire team, anyway. Or maybe he was just as tired as the rest were and thought, 'fuck it.' That wasn't a very positive thought, of course.

Church cursed under his breath and pointed at the door, where they could hear shouting coming closer. "Incoming soldiers," he said loudly. Tucker still didn't know how he was doing that.

"The AI core five hundred yards that way and on the next level. We're low on ammo, but we still have some advantage," Iowa said. He glanced back at their two robot companions. "Church? Omega?"

Church was lacking Sarge's enthusiasm, but he did sound a little perkier as he nodded. "Let's raise some virtual hell."

O'Malley cackled.

**0000**

_IT Security Center_

The path to the IT center was more stairs than the straight path they were used to rushing through. Few security guards met them along the way, but that was mostly because Texas led them through the hallway and then almost immediately down the maintenance stairs. Taking the elevator was too risky for getting cornered, she told them; they weren't trained to get out of corners, which Simmons had to agree with. They avoided nearly all the security teams sent back towards the docking bay.

Two levels down and less than a hundred meters ahead, they reached the central security center. It was made up of a complicated, twisted corridor of carefully sealed rooms with no windows. Probably thanks to Delta, Texas seemed to know just where to go. The second room they came across, she did something to the panel on the side and the door slid open, revealing several startled lab techs.

Texas knocked them out quickly, shoving them away from the consoles before they could raise the alarm. Simmons stepped over them warily and was glad for a lack of bloodshed, for once.

"That was too easy," Simmons said, trying to get the jitters out of his limbs.

Donut was still pretty upbeat, which was a good measure for how fucked they were. "Is that bad?" he asked, slinging his rifle around to his back.

Delta shimmered out of the corner of Simmons' eye. "It is most likely due to the UNSC's expectation that, once discovering our identities, we would be headed toward the AI core center instead of this location."

"Then why didn't more of us go with the Blues?" Simmons asked, frowning. "Sounds like they'll be hit harder."

"Yeah, well, trust me," Texas said, scoffing. "We're going to be needing more of you over here once we get our side of things started."

"And what are those things?" Sarge demanded, crossing his arms against his armor.

Texas glanced back at him and the other Reds. "We're the distraction, idiots."

Oh.

He watched as she went around, shoving chairs aside and looking over the computers. She nodded back over at the Reds.

"This is their IT center," she said. "Connects right with security and most of the networks controlling the ship."

"Sounds breakable," Sarge said, thoughtful.

"You wait here and look for trouble to cause," Texas continued. There was a smirk in her voice. "Enjoy that. I bet it's the last time you're going to be deliberately told to do it."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Grif said, throwing himself down into one of the rolling seats. "What are _you_ going to do?"

"Look for even bigger trouble," she replied, simply. "Delta, help them."

Delta flickered again. "I am already accessing the _Endeavor's_ networks."

They watched Texas leave without another word, disappearing around the corner of the other exit at the far end of the room. The lab hummed with the sound of the computers.

"What should we do?" Donut asked, looking around curiously.

Simmons frowned and considered their options as he turned and sat in front of the nearest console. "Well, we do have full access to their ship's security network. Let's turn off the cameras and…"

The moment his eyes met the static UNSC loading screen, realization hit him like a brick.

"Holy shit," he said, eyes widening.

"What?" Donut asked, surprised.

An actual flood of excitement shot through him. "Grif, Grif, do you remember what we were talking about back at the science outpost?" Simmons asked, hurriedly. Oh, man, he couldn't believe their luck!

"Um, no?" Grif said, scoffing. "Jesus, Simmons, I know we're all stressed out, but I really thought you'd know me better and realize I actively forget all of our absolutely boring conversation in hindsight."

"Grif!" Simmons snapped. He shook his head and started to go through the hard drive. "Goddamn it, never mind."

Donut leaned in closer. "What? Now I'm curious."

Simmons sighed heavily. "We had been talking about how to get Wash out of this mess, remember?"

"What are you talking about?" Sarge asked, irritated. "What sorta planning have you two been doing behind my back?"

"Sir, please, just listen," Simmons began, begging for patience. "If you recall, we once deleted the Blues from the UNSC and Freelancer databases, back at the Freelancer command center. Remember?"

Sarge cleared his throat loudly. "Actually, I don't recall and I'd have to refer you to speak with my legal representative about such claims," he said stiffly.

"Sir!" Simmons said. He reeled in his impatience and moved on. "I just had the thought that, well, why not us, too?"

"Us, too?" Donut repeated, surprised.

"Why not delete _us,_ too?" Simmons asked, looking up at all of his teammates.

It took them a few seconds.

"Ohhh," Donut began, before slowly raising a finger to point at himself. "So, we won't exist either?"

Simmons nodded. "Think about it this way: if we delete us, we don't get pensions, but they don't have access to our names or identities," he said, raising both of his hands as if to measure their situation. "If we don't delete us, we get pensions, but they go to our families, because we'd already be executed for treason."

Sarge made a low sound. "Valid points to consider."

"Sir, it'd likely be our best way to get out of this," Simmons continued, looking at Sarge. He paused. "…and by 'this,' I mean the overall situation, not specifically this current battle." Because fuck, he had no idea how they'd get out of this one alive. But if they did, this would help them.

Next to him, Delta suddenly came back from whatever business he was doing virtually. He seemed to have little trouble rejoining the conversation, though, so Simmons figured he was paying attention.

"I recall this conversation and while I agree it is likely not going to stop any immediate repercussions, it does merit consideration," the green AI said. "At the very least, it will likely not harm your attempts at survival if you delete your records."

"Delete the Red Team?" Sarge repeated, hesitant.

"Yes, sir," Simmons said, nodding. "All of it."

With them off the records, like the Blues, their names wouldn't be available anymore. If they were caught physically, they were screwed, but if they managed to get away from this and get into hiding for awhile… they might have had a chance to _really_ escape all of this. They wouldn't wear recognizable armor in civilian areas, after all, and their names, faces and places of origin wouldn't be available anymore.

In theory… this was their chance to really clean their slates.

Sarge shifted, uncomfortable. "This doesn't sit well with me. But…"

"It might be our only chance," Simmons said, pleading.

Grif seemed uncomfortable by the severity of the situation, but Donut and Sarge seemed intrigued. At least Donut seemed actually curious. Sarge, naturally, was pained to admit anything like a need to destroy their records.

Finally, however, Sarge sighed. Years ago, back at Blood Gulch, he never would have agreed to it. Their time dodging Freelancer had given him better insight.

"Aw, hell," Sarge said, irritated. He shook his head. "It's not like the war meant anything to anybody but us, right?"

Simmons hesitated. "Sir?"

" _We'll_ remember what happened. That's sort of what's gotten us into this mess, anyway," Sarge continued. He sighed heavily and then nodded. "Alright, Simmons. Erase the files."

"Yes, sir!" Simmons said, utterly relieved. He spun around in his chair and started to go through the database at a quickened speed. This was great!

"Oh, now I remember," Grif suddenly said, stretching back in his seat. "Mostly, I remember freezing my ass off."

"Of course you would," Simmons said, snorting.

"Hey, what do you think Tex is gonna do?" Donut asked, interrupting them. "Make a big explosion?"

"I guess," Grif said, shrugging. "She's sort of crazy."

"Aw, I think she's just creative," Donut said, cheerful.

Simmons tsked as he sped through the rows and rows of files. "Delta, can you—," he began to ask.

"I have already accessed the proper database for you, Private Simmons," Delta said. The screen flashed once in front of him and suddenly, he was looking at the folders he needed.

"Oh." Simmons glanced at the AI and nodded. "Thanks!"

Delta kept his attention internal, it seemed, but he did spare the simulation soldier a nod back. "You are welcome."

Donut pushed past Simmons' shoulder to look at the computer. "Wow, so this is the whole thing? The whole Red Army?" he asked.

"Apparently," Simmons muttered. He scrolled through the list. It was meticulously ordered, but that was sort of Freelancer's thing. "Let's see… I think I remember how I did this last time…"

Grif abruptly shoved past him on the other side, knocking into his elbows. "Ooh! Can you, like, just for a second, raise my rank higher than Sarge's?" he asked, strangely enthused.

Having just been poking around at other computers, Sarge stood upright in anger "WHAT? !" he bellowed, whirling around on his subordinates. "Request denied!"

Clearly giddy about teasing their commander, Grif reached out for the computer controls. "Just for a second. This may never happen again!"

"And for good reason!" Sarge shouted, stomping over toward them. "It'd be an abomination! An act against God!"

"Grif, Sarge, please, I'm trying to work here," Simmons said, irritated.

"Oh, come on, Simmons, you could raise your rank, too! Make yourself a general!" Grif insisted. Simmons was sure he was deliberately being an ass, though he couldn't understand why now of all times.

"Do we even have generals in Red Army?" Donut asked, tapping the chin of his helmet.

"We could now!" Grif argued.

Sarge roared in anger and started to babble about how it was all wrong and that they shouldn't mess with nature. Simmons did his best to ignore all of them as they shouted around him; he had more important things to do like locating their records and…

He selected the right folder, it seemed. It held all the Red records, but curiosity got the best of him and he went further down, trying to track down their particular squad. They would do better to delete the whole Army, but he felt like there was enough time to just… look.

And when he did…

He found something quite interesting.

"Wait…" Simmons began, eyes scanning the computer screen.

Grif leaned over, as Sarge's rant was cut off. "What is it?"

Words escaped Simmons. "Sarge… you…?" he started to ask, mind still tripping over what he was reading.

"What?" Sarge demanded, shoving forward.

"Your name is Sergeant Sergeant?" Simmons asked.

"What?" the Red leader asked again, that time confused.

Grif shoved Simmons to the side to look at the screen. It took him a second to find it and he immediately choked on a laugh. Donut peered over his shoulder, curious, and didn't seem to get it.

"Your name is literally Sgt. Sergeant Sergeant? !" Grif exclaimed, sounding scandalized and gleeful. "What the fuck? !"

Simmons couldn't believe it. "Is this a joke?"

"That's a looooot of Sergeants," Donut said, humming thoughtfully.

"Oh, shut up, you insubordinate nancies!" Sarge shouted, over Grif who was now laughing outright. Sarge gestured at himself, indignant. "I'll have you know that I legally changed my name when entering the army. I figured it was good to let my superiors know my utter dedication to the mission at hand! And my own service."

"So, you literally changed your name to Sergeant Sergeant just on the off-chance that you would be nominated to the rank of Sergeant?" Simmons concluded, partially horrified, partially awestruck.

"I think it's cute," Donut said, fond.

"There was no chance!" Sarge bellowed "Only destiny!"

He was surrounded by maniacs.

"Oh, my God," Grif breathed, still laughing. He was nearly bowed over from the effort. "I never have to think of anything to use to mock you openly or behind your back ever again. This is _golden_."

"It would be highly appropriate to refocus on the task at hand," Delta said, sounding just faintly irritated. He was almost faded, however, clearly dividing his attention. "Specifically finishing this business and getting back to neutralizing the security system ship-wide."

Simmons nodded rapidly. "Yeah, what he said!" They were wasting too much time.

Without warning, Delta flared red, jolting back into full view.

"Proximity alarm!" the AI announced, almost as a shout. "Incoming unknown personnel."

"Uhhh, what does that mean? !" Donut asked, alarmed.

"Um, that there's a person coming?" Grif offered, slowly standing upright.

Simmons looked between both entrances of the small room, where the doors were still shut. "Delta, is it a soldier? !"

"No, but—" the AI began, but his answer was cut off when the door they had entered opened with a _whoosh_.

Simmons stood up and only belatedly through to bring up his gun with him. Sarge had his shotgun out, but didn't fire, which was good, because it seemed to be just a lab tech, who seemed just as startled to see them. There was an intense pause and Simmons had no idea how it could possibly end.

And then—

"Dr. Okafor?" Delta asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Simmons looked at the AI next to him, too stunned to properly react, and then looked back at the tech. He was dressed in a white coat, like a doctor might have, and he looked like he might have worked there. The unknown man's eyes were wide and his mouth had fallen open as he stared at Delta and only at the AI.

"Delta?" the man asked, shocked.

There was a distinct pause.

"Oh, shit," Simmons and Grif said in unison.

**0000**

_AI Core_

AIs were scary as fuck.

That should have been clear from all the years they spent with Omega and then Gary's bullshit, but honestly, Tucker was learning that the more serious an AI was, the more dangerous they could be. He had never thought _dangerous_ and _Church_ could go together in the same sentence (other than when considering his relationships with women), but Tucker's opinion had changed a bit when O'Malley and Church decided to use their natures against the UNSC.

It was sort of cool, really. One second, they were facing down a whole group of soldiers rushing at them with runs raised. The next second, Church had dropped out of his robot body and O'Malley had jumped out of Doc, who yelled out in surprise. Then, the door right in front of group furthest away, back in another section of the corridor, slammed shut on them as if on command. O'Malley laid havoc in his own way, leaping into the unprepared soldiers' helmets, using one of their own to mow them down without forcing Iowa or Wash to use a single one of their own bullets.

Tucker found himself gaping uselessly as Church suddenly popped back into his own body, confirming the doors were locked and the incoming soldiers would take a long time to break through it. O'Malley leapt back into Doc, letting Wash kick down the disorientated soldier he left behind.

All of it took less than a thirty seconds.

"How did you do that? !" Tucker exclaimed, stunned by Church's sudden, well, usefulness.

"Shut up, Tucker," Church muttered as he adjusted his robotic limbs, like shaking out a kink in his joints. He turned to Wash. "The locks will hold at least until we get to the AI core. All the doors on this side of the ship should hold the same."

"Got it," Wash said, as he kicked down the door that led to the maintenance stairs. He led the way up as they took off at their brisk pace again.

"You took control of the fucking doors! The whole corridor!" Tucker said, pushing it as he stuck close to Church. "How? !"

Church made a frustrated noise when they reached the next landing. "What part of _I used to be a goddamn fucking Charon-class Light Frigate_ do you not understand?"

"So, what, you are a robot now?" Tucker shot back, now annoyed. He shoved at Church's shoulder and it was frustrating how little he could budge the robotic frame. "Seriously, for a dude who spent an ungodly amount of time bitching about being a ghost and not a computer, you're really excited about calling yourself a computer now."

"It's—it's hard to explain. Goddamn it, it's nothing!" Church snapped as they reached the floor they needed. "Just—pay attention!"

"I'm trying to—," Tucker began, struggling with the complicated mix of annoyance and a strange fear he couldn't shake.

Church growled and shoved him roughly to the side. "No, you fucktard, pay attention! Soldiers!"

"Ah, shit," Tucker muttered as he saw the bewildered and angered security soldiers stuck on their side of the door.

There were at least seven of them and even with two ex-Freelancers and an AI unafraid to get his borrowed-hands bloody, Tucker knew they were out gunned. They had to head the other way, sure, but that left them with seven pissed off guards on their ass. Even Tucker knew that was a bad idea.

Still, they weren't left with a lot of options, even as Wash threw a flash bang and O'Malley kicked a careless soldier down the stairwell they had just come up from.

"Just book it!" Iowa shouted, when they had only really taken out one of them. That seemed a bit reckless to Tucker.

"What about the soldiers we're leaving behind? !" Church shouted back as they took off in a run, their feet clanging against the metal floor. "Once we leave the area, they'll be able to break out! They'll be blocking the route out!"

"We'll have to find another route then!" Wash snapped. He took point, which was worrisome since he sounded increasingly winded. "Don't waste time or bullets. Just go!"

The map they had was accurate. Wash barreled down a short hallway off from the main one and nearly slammed into a discrete-looking locked door at the end of it. Church said something before Wash could—and Tucker couldn't hear it clearly, since the gunfire was disturbingly close, but the door suddenly opened and Tucker found himself stumbling inside.

It was good they had brought such a small group with them, since the lab they entered was ridiculously small. There were no windows; just a big line of expensive looking tech. Iowa was the last one in and he hit the panel to close the door.

"Church, the door!" Wash ordered.

"Already locked," Church said, sounding tired again. He started to look along the line of computers across from them. Tucker wheezed and took a brief moment to catch his breath.

Behind them, the door shuddered. The soldiers had caught up. Great, Tucker thought.

" _They're going to break in_ ," O'Malley said, almost too casually. He stepped backwards, choosing to lean against one of the bulkheads sticking out, past the computer equipment. " _Ooh, they're going to be so mad._ "

"Not helping," Iowa muttered.

" _Since when do I help?_ " the AI shot back.

"Good point."

Tucker was more focused on the door. The soldiers were already making the frame shake, probably firing at it uselessly once they realized they couldn't just hack it open.

"Dudes, this seems like a terrible plan," he said, his heart pounding. "Like, can we get out of this place? Alive?"

They were in a tiny room with no clear exit except for the door they just entered—where there were plenty of soldiers lining up outside of it now to kill them.

"This is suicide, damn it," Iowa said, reloading quickly. "Wash, he's right. They've boxed us in. We won't have time to get Epsilon and then push them back."

Wash spun around and looked at the AI standing ahead of them at the computers. "Church, how fast can you get Epsilon out?"

"Seconds. I can do it," Church said, scrambling across the different computers with his hands stretched out. He stumbled in front of one oblong structured. "There! He's there!"

"Tucker, help me brace the door!" Iowa shouted, flinging himself at the door as the seam lit up bright—where they were breaking in. Did they have power tools or something? !

"With what? !" Tucker shot back. He had to laugh bitterly. "Why are we always stuck in dinky-ass labs? !"

"We should be grateful it was this close to the docking bay," Wash said. He hissed while reaching for his ammo belt. "Fuck."

"You okay?" Tucker asked, glancing at his friend.

"I'm almost out of clips," Wash said. He glanced back at the door, which seemed stable enough, but Tucker could hear something happening to the metal outside. "We have to focus on keeping the door shut."

"Wash, we're sitting ducks in here," Iowa said, frustrating bleeding into his voice. "How the fuck are we getting out?"

Wash shook his head. "You heard Tex. She and the Reds are going to distract the UNSC forces here."

Tucker laughed again. "Distract them? They're right here, pounding on the door—," _Bow-chicka-bow-wow._ "—what the fuck are the guys gonna do to distract them from us now? !"

"I don't know," Wash said, letting out a biting sigh. "I'm sorry. We're just going to have to trust them."

"That's rich coming from you," Tucker said, irritable. He glanced back at Church, who didn't seem to be doing anything but poking at the fucking computer.

"I know," Wash said. He paused and then looked back at him. His exhaustion was almost visible through his armor. "Tucker, I'm sorry."

Tucker wanted to punch his fist through the wall. "It's not your fault. Goddamn it," he said, meaning it, even if fear was starting to trickle into his gut.

" _And here I thought I was the pessimist_ ," O'Malley drawled. He was now sitting on the floor, acting bored. _Asshole_. " _Humans are so boring_."

"Ah, shut it, O'Malley," Tucker snapped.

"Church, hurry the fuck up!" Iowa said, frustrated.

Church was still struggling. "Wash, help me, I can't figure out how to unlock this!"

The door creaked rather loudly. "Hurry up!" Iowa shouted as Wash rushed over to help Church.

Tucker tried to think of a way they could get out of there. It didn't seem possible. Maybe—maybe if there were only a few soldiers out there, they'd be okay and they could handle it. O'Malley wasn't panicking, but then again, he could just find a new host. The AI didn't seem afraid for Doc, though, so maybe he was confident after all. It was hard to wager on.

Maybe it could work. Tucker tried to believe it, even as his pulse raced with increased anxiety. The door could hold until they got Epsilon and figured out how to fight their way out. Then—what? They could grab a ship? To fly where?

Tucker tried to keep a grip on his gun, but he only then noticed his arms were shaky. Fuck.

"How 'bout you do something, Church? !" Iowa shouted.

"Shut up and give me time!" Church shot back, angry. "Wash, hurry up!

"I don't think I have too many bullets!" Tucker said, eyes darting between his gun and the door. Fuck, he really didn't. He had a grenade, but that didn't seem like a good plan. The room was too damn small. He had his sword, but the soldiers had guns—

"I almost have—," Wash said, before stepping back from the console "Okay, okay, it's unlocked Church! Do whatever it is you need to do!"

"Right," the AI said, standing over the console, oddly jittery. "That shouldn't be too hard, right?"

Tucker did a double take. "Wait, what are you going to do?"

"Fuck, I don't know. I don't know!" Church said. He was wringing his hands, just standing there, and Tucker didn't understand his hesitance. "This is as good as it's gonna get. It's as good as—fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Iowa glared at him from over his shoulder. "Church, what are you doing? ! Grab Epsilon!" he ordered. The door shook with a loud bang. "Or hey, Epsilon-Church, get your ass out here!"

"Good as it's gonna get," Church repeated, sounding like he wasn't there with them.

Tucker lowered his gun. "Church?"

O'Malley said nothing and kept an all-too-calm eye on the door.

"Fuck this," Church whispered. "We're already dead anyway, right? I wasn't wrong, Wash."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Wash demanded. He hesitated. "Are you—are you rampant—?"

"Guys, do something!" Iowa shouted. "Now!"

There was something about Wash's new-found wariness that made Tucker increasingly uneasy. "Church, don't do anything reckless," Wash said, taking barely a step toward the AI. "Just get Epsilon—"

"No," Church said, growing resolved. It was freaking Tucker out. "This…is as good as it's going to get. And I'll make sure of it."

What did that _mean_ —? !

Wash flinched—and then he lunged. "Church," he said, panicked, reaching out with one hand. "Wait!"

Church's robot body dropped, landing carelessly on the floor, discarded and empty.

Tucker opened his mouth to say something, anything—

The security officers kicked down the door.

**End** _**Chapter 24** _ **.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have Epsilon, but that doesn't mean a thing when the full wrath of the UNSC suddenly becomes a real and present threat.
> 
>  **A/Ns** :  
> -for real tho AI-buddies, stop doing this this can't be good for your health  
> -YOOoo Dr. Robert Okafor. In case you don't remember who this fine man is, go back to the last chapter of _Salvation_.  
>  -Also, remember, I'm choosing to ignore the canon fact they did restore the Blue database thanks to FILSS. My excuse is that it only worked on their remote server, so it never went further than that base. So the Blues are still deleted. Because I said so.  
> -In the _Halo_ mythos, rampancy in AIs is "is a terminal state of being for artificial intelligence constructs in which the AI behaves contrary to its programming-imposed constraints. Traditionally, this is linked with the AI developing delusions of godlike power and becomes consumed by its own interests, as well as contempt for its mentally inferior makers." (Halopedia)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected new face becomes an old face we've been waiting for.
> 
>  **Okay, so some bad news (maybe)** : due to some boring IRL stuff you don't want to hear about, I'm working two jobs and my free time has basically come down to weekends and two hours at night. **This means that updates MAY slow down, possibly to every three weeks**. I'm not sure when or how often this could happen, but I will update you via my tumblr/twitter when I know I'm going to be late with a chapter. I'm hoping this won't be a long term issue, but at this point, there's not much I can do. :C Sorry!
> 
> Thanks again for all your readership and support, guys! Next update should be December 24, but keep an eye out for any delay warnings!
> 
>   
> **Warnings** : implied slash (pairings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : _Red vs. Blue_ © Rooster Teeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

_Docking Bay_

It wasn't like they had merely stuck all the non-fighters in the shuttle. Sigma was out of commission, albeit getting stronger by the minute, and Ada was merely a psychologist with no combat training whatsoever. The AIs inside the containment unit were also unable to provide any strategic aid at the time. They still had two trained soldiers to guard them while waiting for their other teammates to come back.

…however, 'trained' was indeed the operative term.

Sister seemed more coherent than Caboose was; she was immature, but far more aware of what was happening than her teammates seemed to have assumed about her. She still wasn't the sharpest girl Ada had ever met, but still more trustworthy with a weapon than Caboose was.

Though all of what she knew about Caboose and weapons came from Church, Ada had to admit wryly as she sat watching both him and Sister keeping an eye out for trouble. Caboose was crouched, bouncing back and forth with his gun in his lap. Ada hoped they wouldn't have to test his ability to use it.

Sister had been excited at first to stand watch, chatting away about how dull being alone had been and she was glad that she was able to do cool stuff again.

The allure wore off after the first ten minutes of silence. There wasn't even an alarm going off. It was painfully silent in the docking bay, especially when Ada knew fighting was going on elsewhere. Sister didn't take silence well, she learned.

"Well, this sucks," Sister said, as if the silence was the worst they could face on the _Endeavor_. "I didn't think it'd be this boring!"

Ada looked up at her from her seat. "It certainly beats being shot and killed, though, doesn't it?"

The younger woman's shoulders drooped. "Yeah, but…" She gestured around them. "Should we be _moving_?"

"What do you mean?" Ada asked, surprised.

Sister scoffed. "You know! Getting a better ship? This one's probably all out of gas or whatever. Maybe we can steal another one and get it ready. Dex'll probably like that."

She certainly had a point. They were rather useless just sitting there and the others had mentioned getting the other shuttle in the docking bay for the benefit of having a new ship. If they could help the others by getting it ready…well, it was something simple enough that even the four of them could manage.

Ada nodded. "Hmm. There was another ship next to us that was loading up. Perhaps it's been refueled already."

"We'll be like spies or-or secret agents!" Sister exclaimed, excited as Ada stood up.

"I like spies!" Caboose added, joining the conversation with enthusiasm. "Oh, oh, can I be a super hero instead? Like Spiderman?"

"Spiderman wouldn't steal a space shuttle though," Sister told him.

"He might!"

Ada sighed. "Alright, alright, let's just go quietly," she said, stressing the last word. She turned and looked at the AI next to her as she brought the AI containment unit into her arms. "Sigma, are you able to stand?"

Sigma had been quiet and Ada had begun to think it was some form of mechanical meditation. When she had been at the top of her game, Sigma never would have let so many potentially dangerous rivals move about without her watching them carefully. She was getting better, slowly, however.

"Affirmative," the AI said, vaguely irritated. She started to stand, but her movements were still stiff. "Synchronization is nearly complete. I apologize, doctor, for the wait."

"Nonsense. Take your time," Ada said, holding one hand out.

Sigma ignored it and stood up straight. She didn't look nearly as unsteady as she had hours ago, which was a good sign. She stepped toward the ramp.

"This was a foolish gesture on Texas' part," she said, stopping next to Ada. "It will likely get at least some of us killed."

Ada frowned. "You don't give Wash or Iowa much credit."

"I've seen Freelancer at work more than you. Believe me…" Sigma sighed; it was interesting how the AIs with bodies mimicked such gestures. "Three are not enough."

"But it's all we have," Ada said, hesitating. She moved to help Sigma walk forward when the AI wavered slightly. She had to brace the containment unit on her hip to free her arm up. "Come on. I can help you."

Sigma pulled from her touch. "I do not need…" She stopped and then turned her head towards the doctor. "Thank you. I am fine."

That caused Ada to look at her in surprise. Sigma made it down the ramp on her own and peered around cautiously as Caboose edged around her. Ada stepped up to Sigma, catching her attention.

"You don't seem to share Theta's fear, but perhaps some of his paranoia," Ada said, intrigued and a little grateful. She reached out to touch Sigma's arm, as a gesture of support she hoped Sigma understood. "You don't need to fear any of my intentions at the very least. I'm still on your side."

"I know," Sigma said, abruptly.

Swaying slightly because she stopped so suddenly, Ada forced herself to look at Sigma with a controlled expression. It was shocking to hear any sort of admission like that from the notoriously independent AI. It was difficult to guess what had changed within Sigma, but they were in no way safe enough for Ada to start asking questions about it.

Still. _What_ she had just said was shocking enough.

"You do?" Ada asked, finally.

Sigma turned and looked at her, tilting her head slightly. "My brothers trust you. I, too, find it difficult to doubt your honesty, Livingston."

"But?" Ada prompted.

"Honesty means nothing to capabilities, doctor," Sigma said, pointedly, without malice.

Ada wondered how much of Gamma she was speaking with at the moment. It could have been any portion of him. He told the truth as much as he lied. He wasn't one for the poetic phrasing Sigma was fond of, of course. That made it hard to distinguish the two.

What a fun new game they had to play, as doctor and patient, Ada thought tiredly.

"That is true," she said, nodding.

Sigma laughed, the sound quiet. "But don't let my negativity ruin the party," she said. She would have been grinning, if she could, Ada knew. "Let's focus on the positive."

That almost made Ada smile. _Hello, Gamma._

"…yes," she said, moving again, adjusting the containment unit with both arms. "Let's."

They stepped down onto the docking bay floor and Ada did a cursory sweep. There was no chatter on their comm. lines, so she figured the others were busy with their fighting and she wouldn't want to distract them. She turned and saw the other shuttle a few dozen meters away, beyond a large row of storage units.

Just as they reached the first line of crates, Ada heard what sounded like shouting. Turning, she saw a flash of armor at the far exit that the Reds and Tex had gone through.

It was not friendly forces.

Gasping, Ada knew that in their limited amount of space and time, they only had the option of hiding.

"Get down!" she said, forcing her cry to strangle down into a hoarse whisper. She reached out for both Caboose and Sister, who hadn't dived immediately to the ground like Sigma had. "Down!"

"Huh?" Sister said, surprised. She went down, as did Caboose, when Ada continued to push them toward the row of crates.

The soldiers hadn't shouted in alarm, so maybe they hadn't seen the four of them moving. Ada's heart hammered against her ribcage as she watched, warily from the corner of the crates. They kept moving back further until they were almost halfway between the two shuttles. She did everything she could to make sure they were out of sight, but there was no way to tell if they were indeed hidden.

They had to _move_. "Behind the crates!" Ada hissed, shoving Sister forward. "Go!"

"Are there more shooty-people?" Caboose asked, worried.

Ada did her best to stay calm as she pushed his shoulder, forcing them to crawl in a line behind the boxes. "Yes, Caboose, so please, let's hide from them, so we don't get…shoot-y."

"Ah, yes. I like this plan," he whispered back. Ada decided that was as lucky as she could hope to get anymore.

The soldiers seemed interested in their fallen friends first, which was understandable. They didn't bother reviving any of the unconscious dockworkers, however, which struck Ada as foolish. They were probably under orders to find the intruders first. That's why they headed for the shuttle—the shuttle they had just left.

The reality of how close they had come to being cornered was unpleasant to think about.

Caboose started to crawl again, past the edge of the next crate, and Ada grabbed his shoulder. "Easy, Caboose. Not so fast," she said.

He hesitated and gestured a bit with his rifle. "Should we, ah, shoot them?"

"No, no, they're going to check out the ship and then leave to find out where we went," Ada said quickly, motioning for him to put his weapon down. He did and they all stilled as they watched the men.

It was a small group, inspecting both their fallen comrades and then the abandoned shuttle. Ada nervously tried to gauge what they were going to do next, but she knew she wasn't trained for this. She took minor solace that Sigma, despite being unstable, wasn't panicking. If the old Sigma detected a threat, she'd have voiced it by then. With Theta likely influencing her awareness of what was dangerous now, it was still reassuring to note Sigma's silence.

"Whew," Sister said, whispering between the four of them. "Good thing we left the other one, huh?"

Ada laughed quietly. "Yes. Excellent call on that, Kaikana," she said, watching the men at a distance. They just had to wait and hide for a few moments longer. They seemed to be pointing towards the other exit, where the Blues, O'Malley, and Iowa had gone.

"Ha! And they said that we were the bad soldiers and shit," Sister continued, thankfully still whispering. She sounded quite proud of herself. "Joke's on them! Jerks."

"Well, technically, we are less skilled," Ada reminded her, sighing. The soldiers came stomping down from the shuttle ramp. They were pointing at the exit again. A few more minutes…

"I would like to say that I have been a good fight and not a bad fighter. I do not think I am bad," Caboose said, a bit upset. He turned to Sigma. "Am I bad person, Lady-Donut?"

Sigma didn't even look at him. "I don't like you. Don't speak to me."

"I like me," Caboose said, hurt and just a little too loud.

Livingston reached out and touched his arm. "We all like you, Caboose, please, keep your voice down." The soldiers kept moving, thankfully, rushing off to rejoin the other squad that had split off to look on the other side of the hangar.

Caboose seemed to understand. "I like me," he whispered back.

Sigma groaned and then started to crawl towards the other shuttle. Ada wanted to call her back, since the soldiers were still in the room, but they were far away. It was probably safe enough. She had to hope it was. Eventually, the soldiers seemed to leave the hangar entirely.

The four crept toward the other shuttle ("Sneaking…sneaking…I am sneaking…," Caboose kept whispering) and kept to the crate line. Ada didn't see any movement. She held her breath as she stared at the seemingly empty new shuttle. There were supply crates at the base of the ramp and there were hoses lined up along its side, where they had either finished refueled or just started. Ada had to hope they already finished. They'd need to go quickly once the others returned.

Holding her breath, Ada inched closer to the ramp. Sister decided to just walk up, as did Caboose. Sigma waited longer, but eventually uncoiled from the ground to follow them.

Inside seemed the same as their last one. The supply crates in the back took up a lot of room, but Ada knew that they'd need the food and medical items. Maybe. She wasn't sure where they were headed next.

Rather, where they _could_ go next, she thought sadly.

"No one there?" Sister called into the shuttle, daring to speak up. She paused at the silence and then stood back, chipper. "Okay, good."

"Check the front of the ship," Sigma said, brisk. She then paused and proceeded to push past the girl to sit down wearily on one of the seats. "Never mind, if there's anyone coming, we're dead anyway."

"That's the spirit," Livingston murmured as she stepped up to place the AI containment unit under the seats.

Sigma laughed. "Ooh, your sense of humor. I've missed it, doctor."

"I try my best," Ada told her, smiling tiredly back at the AI. She then turned to Caboose and Sister. "All right, we'll just have to wait until Texas or Grif come back to make sure the shuttle is ready to go. I know nothing of vehicles or shuttles."

To her surprise, Sister turned and placed a hand on her hip, her posture suggesting she was annoyed, "Um, excuse me, I can at least check to see if the tank is full," she said. At Ada's surprise, the Blue soldier snorted. "What? Dex isn't the only Grif around here who can freaking drive."

Ada was trying to visualize it, but Sister, despite being very nice and friendly, didn't exactly project too many viable skills. "Um, a ship?" she asked, hesitant.

"It's a fuel gauge, lady, not a math test," Sister said, her dulled voice evoking a strong resemblance to her brother. Ah, there it is.

"Point," Ada said, nodding in concession to that. She cleared her throat and motioned with her hands. "Uh, well, go ahead. I'm sure we still have some time—"

Before Sister could move, Caboose made a noise that forced Ada to turn around. He was still by the door without his weapon raised, but he seemed strangely alert.

"Hey. Uh. Uhhhh," he said, glancing at the ramp and then back at Ada, worried. "I heard something."

"Heard what—?" Ada asked, surprised.

Then, she heard it, too. It was almost like metal scraping on metal, but Ada had learned to recognize the sound of armor—specifically armored footsteps. Her heard leapt into her throat when she realized it was headed their way.

"Someone's coming," she said, trying her best to whisper.

Sigma, who had gone to sit down, looked up sharply. "A friendly party would identify themselves," she warned, immediately severe.

She was right. Ada gulped. "Oh, no." She turned back to the AI, heart racing. "Sigma, take the containment unit, go to the front. Hide!"

"They will shoot you," Sigma said, hesitating.

Ada shook her head. "This is the UNSC, not Freelancer. They likely will take prisoners first," she insisted. She motioned at the AI. "Go, Sigma! Go!"

Sigma probably sneered at her, but obeyed regardless. She grabbed the AI containment unit and rushed to the front. Ada didn't pause to see if the AI shut the door behind her. Instead, she moved up to Caboose and fought the urge to try to hide as well. There was no where to go and she knew a fight in such close quarters would only get them all killed.

No, she realized. They had to surrender if they were caught there. If Sigma and the AIs could remain unseen, maybe they could bide their time in captivity until the others came back. Even if Iowa couldn't get the captured ones out, he could at least grab the AIs.

Ada swallowed hard. She knew he wouldn't leave her behind and she mostly hated him for it at that point, even if it did make her feel just the faintest bit of comfort.

Caboose tentatively raised his gun. "Uhh…do we shoot?" he asked, when the shadow of the person headed their way finally appeared at the edge of the door.

Pushing the gun back down, Ada shook her head. She didn't want them to get into a fight she knew they couldn't win.

"No, no, let me…" Ada began, her eyes trailing back to the door. "See…"

Her words failed when the person finally stepped up to the ramp closely enough that she could see their armor and the glint of color they bore.

Her mouth dropped open.

Sister stepped closer, hesitantly raising her gun. "What's wrong?" she asked, peering around the doctor's shoulder.

The metal ramp creaked as the armored stranger thudded their way up toward them.

When they reached the top and stood observing them, Livingston inhaled sharply.

"Oh, my God," she said.

**0000**

_AI Core_

Doc really, really hated how gross violence was. Really, it was just gross after a certain point.

When he had tried to get into med school, he knew that he'd be seeing a lot of dead people and sick people and grossness was a thing there. Being a medic in the army saw a lot of dead people too, which sucked, since it never got easier.

He could have avoided it; O'Malley had offered to black him out again, with his usually sadistically-inspired courtesy, to avoid seeing the inevitable deaths of the UNSC soldiers. Doc had turned him down politely, because no matter how uneasy death made him feel, he really didn't like being out of the loop.

Doc wanted to joke about it with Wash—that _O_ _'_ _Malley_ of all people had _offered_ anything at all, let alone control over what happened to Doc's body—but it really wasn't the time for it.

Especially when the UNSC soldiers kicked down the door and fell into the room almost right on top of them.

He hadn't been in control of his body, but the mental yelp Doc let out ended up being an actual, out-loud yelp when O'Malley jumped from his armor. He had jumped earlier and it had been startling, because, well, O'Malley didn't jump out of his head willingly. But he did to serve a purpose and just like he handled the soldiers downstairs, O'Malley wasn't very nice.

Doc watched, frozen on the floor as Tucker and Iowa yelled out in alarm to start shooting. They didn't have to do much, since O'Malley reappeared quickly in a soldier out of sight in the hallway. Doc knew he was there, because the second he was gone from Doc's head, the soldiers were suddenly being shot at from both Tucker and Iowa and from one of their own behind them.

Ducking low to both avoid the crossfire and avoid seeing most of the carnage, Doc waited for the gunfire to stop. It only took a few seconds. He gingerly moved his arms to look up at his companions. The lab fell silent for a brief moment.

"Jeez, O'Malley!" Iowa yelled, once the last solider in front of them fell. "Give us warning first!"

The AI turned to the Freelancer, probably glaring. " _Oh, yes, I_ _'_ _ll give you a full list of my daily itinerary. First on the list, murder some pawns of the army downstairs. Second, I think I_ _'_ _ll do it again on the next floor_ ," he said, sarcasm dripping. " _Third, oh, yes, I have some fun in the galley_ _—_ "

"Shut up, you freak," Tucker interrupted, annoyed. "Also, hurry up and get out of the dude."

" _You don_ _'_ _t need to remind me_ ," O'Malley snapped. He seemed to dramatically shudder. " _Ugh, this one felt gross. Handle it. Also, you_ _'_ _re welcome. Ungrateful humans._ "

Doc had barely stood up when O'Malley leapt back into his helmet. It was always disorientating when O'Malley did that on his own, though it was significantly less painful than if they were forcefully separated. It still took some mental shifting around to make "room" for the AI, especially if they were both at the helm, so to speak.

The poor man O'Malley had left behind sputtered in confusion, but Iowa shot him before he could even have a clue as to what was going on. Doc grimaced and really wished there was a way to avoid this. What was the point in killing all the soldiers when they were already identifiable to the UNSC? It just didn't seem right. He couldn't stop it, though.

O'Malley, for his part, was more disgruntled over having to disconnect himself twice in just a short period of time. He settled into Doc's head, almost ruffled, muttering about the indignity of it all.

 _Aw, you missed me_ , Doc said, teasing. Ever since O'Malley calmed down a bit, he felt more comfortable doing so.

O'Malley shoved him, so to speak, jostling back into control of his body. _Shut up, DuFresne. Your stupidity clouds both of us._

_Rude._

"Church, say something, damn it," Wash was saying, breaking into Doc's thoughts. "Church!"

O'Malley let him control their shared head to look over at Wash, who was crouched over Church's discarded robot body. It wasn't so discarded now, it seemed, since Doc saw one of the hands twitching. The rest of it was abnormally still.

"Is he back in his body?" Tucker asked, wary.

Wash hesitated. "I…I don't know." He leaned over the robot, hand hovering just over Church's chest. "Alpha? Epsilon? Is one of you there?"

They didn't get an audible response, but Doc held his breath as Church finally moved. The robotic body whined lowly, almost like it was rebooting. The hands resting on the floor twitched and then clenched. Wash looked at his hands and then back at the AI's face.

"Church?" he asked.

The AI turned his head to face the human. "Washington," Church said, almost like a question. His voice was scratchy, like it was filled in static. Doc could only stare.

Iowa and Tucker looked at each other before looking back at Church, who needed Wash's help to sit up. Wash still seemed uneasy.

"Please don't be crazy," Wash said, murmuring.

"You, of all people…" Church began, a bit of heat returning to his voice. It cut through the tense air, even if it was slightly distorted. "Saying that… to me?"

"Church, is that you?" Tucker asked, stepping closer.

"Tucker, give him space—," Wash warned, holding his hand up that wasn't supporting Church.

The AI shifted away from him anyway and then stopped. "I…"

Tucker seemed like he wanted to get closer, but he kept his distance. Doc tried to see what was wrong. O'Malley was silent, but Doc could feel that familiar dark glee slowly emerging from the AI. He always liked it when things went wrong; Doc thought that was an awful way of viewing their problems.

"I remember everything," Church continued, moving again.

"Church, you don't need—," Wash began, trying to keep him still.

Church lifted his head towards the other four humans. Even without a visible face, his posture screamed an intensity Doc was familiar seeing in the Church they knew.

"I remember Dr. Church," he said, voice heavy and dark.

Doc swallowed nervously at that admission. Something was wrong. O'Malley was watching his sibling AI was far too much intensity and without any sort of sympathy.

Why did all of this have to be so…so…awful? Even when they had just succeeded in doing what they came there to do, something went wrong. Doc knew that even orange juice couldn't fix these sorts of problems. It was only mildly comforting to know it wasn't just him who was helpless.

Iowa exhaled lowly. "Shit," he whispered.

"What do we do?" Tucker asked, much louder. He glanced back at the lab's exit. "Fuck it, we need to go. We can fix his ass later."

"Okay, okay," Wash said, standing. He moved around to grab Church's unresisting arm. "Tucker, help me get—"

Just as Tucker reached to grab Church's other arm, the whole room rocked in sync with what sounded like a distant earthquake. Doc yelped as he was thrown back into the bulkhead. Iowa had been sent sprawling, his gun sliding across the floor, and Wash and Church slammed into each other with a loud clang before falling over to the ground.

Above them, an alarm started to shriek and the lights dimmed to an emergency red tone, flashing wildly. The whole room was rumbling.

Belatedly, Doc realized the rumbling around them was really coming from their right, back toward the hallway, but seemingly further than that. He wasn't an expert with ships, but he could imagine that the loud noise they had heard had meant it originated on the other side.

Something had exploded.

Considering the size of the _Endeavor_ , it must have been an incredibly large explosion.

Doc really, really hoped it wasn't a catastrophic sort of explosion. At least for their side.

"FUCK!" Tucker yelled, scrambling upright. "What was that? !"

"That would be Texas," Iowa said, chuckling. He seemed far more positive about it as he grabbed his fallen weapon. "Girl knows how to cause a distraction, that's for sure."

" _That was a large explosion_ ," O'Malley said, almost too conversationally. He grinned. " _I wonder how many people she took out_." Doc sighed.

"Great," Wash said, sighing. He adjusted his side of Church. "Come on, Tucker. Let's go while we still can."

Doc wanted to agree, that they should have taken the opportunity to get back downstairs to avoid more soldiers (and more bloodshed). O'Malley was somewhat torn, since he was wary about their chances, even if he wouldn't admit it. He also wanted to see more people suffer, though. Doc didn't sympathize with his conflicted state—

"— _owa, Iowa, do you copy?_ "

Doc flinched at the sudden, familiar voice shouting over their radio. They had agreed to keep comm. chatter to a minimum, since they weren't sure how secure it'd be earlier. O'Malley growled at the sound of Texas' voice, but Doc was happy to suddenly hear from one of their companions. At least she was okay still.

"Yeah, Tex, we hear you," Iowa said, raising his fingers to the side of his helmet. "Nice distraction. Just what we needed. We're on our way back—"

" _Negative, Iowa, that is a negative_ ," Texas said, voice tightly controlled.

Iowa hesitated. "What?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

" _That was a negative, Iowa_ ," Texas repeated. She made a low sound and it seemed like she was moving quickly, wherever she was, judging by the background sounds on the channel that were audible through her helmet. " _I did not cause that explosion. I repeat, I did not cause the explosion._ "

Doc blinked. _Oh_.

"What?" Iowa and Wash both asked at the same time, shocked.

"Are they under attack?" Doc asked, surprised. Or rather, he supposed _they_ would mean his group too at that point. Uh oh.

"Holy shit," Tucker said, stunned. "That wasn't Tex? What was it then?"

" _Negative_!" Texas shouted over the radio. Wherever she was, it was a lot louder than where they were. Doc thought he heard people shouting over the alarm. That was impressive, considering it was coming over her helmet's radio. " _Guys, move back to the docking bay,_ now _! There_ _'_ _s shit going on that_ _'_ _s not related to us and I_ _'_ _d rather not get caught up in it!_ "

"Roger, we're heading back now," Wash said, grim. He bent low as he moved Church's arm back around his shoulders. "Church, come on, we need you on your feet."

Church's head lolled back, but he moved his legs to stand at Wash's insistence. "She's back," he said.

"Who's back?" Tucker asked, surprised.

"I-I don't know. I remember it all," Church said. He sounded frustrated as he raised his other hand stiffly, almost to touch his head. "Fuck, I remember all of them. All of them, back… back then. They all _died_."

"Get up and we can help you figure it out later," Wash said, his voice tight. He turned his head towards Doc. "O'Malley, are you good?"

" _Ooh, how nice of you to ask_ ," O'Malley said, sarcastic. Doc attempted to say something and O'Malley shoved him. " _Stop fighting me, you fool!_ "

"I'm not fighting you, gosh," Doc replied, trying to get used to the AI settling back into his head. It was so weird when he jumped and then came back. "You're the one who's all jumbled again—"

" _Oh, shut up!_ " O'Malley replied, annoyed. Doc huffed.

"Both of you, focus!" Wash snapped, making Doc flinch. The ex-Freelancer was practically hoisting Church off the ground, which seemed foolish to Doc, considering Wash's injuries. "We don't know what's going on, if the ship's under attack or not. We can't risk getting caught up in any more trouble."

Tucker made a bitter sound. "Is that even possible? I'm pretty sure we're the literal definitions of trouble magnets."

"Just go," Wash ordered. He struggled to keep the robot next to him standing. "Church, walk with me. I can't carry you and—"

Church stumbled alongside of him. "I'm sorry, David," he said, strangely repentant. Almost desperately so.

Wash hesitated. Doc watched how tension roiled over his armor, into his limbs, but Wash didn't push Church away. He took a moment to collect himself.

"It's fine," he said, roughly, forcing them to move over the dead soldiers.

"No, it's not," Church said, pleading. "I'm so sorry."

Wash inhaled.

"Just focus on moving," he said.

Church tripped over one of the soldiers. "I'm not rampant. I-I swear," he begged.

"That's great," Wash said, voice tighter than ever. "Just move."

Iowa followed after them and Tucker went next, gingerly moving around the bodies. Doc let O'Malley handle that, mostly because he wanted to ignore as much of it as possible.

He was also distracted by what Church was saying. It seemed so odd to hear Church sound like that. Sure, Epsilon had been a little more open about things, from what little of him Doc had seen back at Sidewinder last year, but this…was a little weird.

 _Is Church okay?_ Doc asked, turning inward.

O'Malley grinned—something that was indescribable outside his head, but it was a grin all the same.

 _That is not Church_ , he said, taking too much glee out of it.

Doc wanted to ask just what that meant, but after taking a second, with O'Malley's unpleasant hinting flashing all over the place in that split second, he sort of understood.

… _Oh_ , he said, not sure what he felt about the realization that once again, some of the AIs had changed themselves.

 _It will be so delightful watching our Memory and our Alpha decipher just who they are_ _…_ O'Malley continued, still enjoying it. _Whether they are Church or something else will come in time. For now, it_ _'_ _s just a lovely mess._

 _Why are you so cruel to them?_ Doc asked, cringing a bit.

That snapped O'Malley out of his gloating. _What?_ he asked, sharply.

 _You and Sigma are so mean to each other and all your other siblings_ , Doc said, wishing he could wring his hands. _Why?_

 _It_ _'_ _s not your concern_ , O'Malley immediately snapped, flaring up angrily.

Doc fidgeted, not wanting to cause an argument, but honestly, he couldn't understand it. But…he sort of did.

 _You_ _'_ _re afraid of them_ , Doc said.

O'Malley snarled. _Be silent._

Doc did take back control of his hands just to wring them that time. _You shouldn_ _'_ _t, you know. I don_ _'_ _t think they_ _'_ _ll make you rejoin them._

 _You don_ _'_ _t know anything, idiot_ , O'Malley said, getting angry now.

 _I know you and well, you_ _'_ _re not like Epsilon anymore, right?_ Doc asked, trying to be the voice of reason.

O'Malley's angry was threaded with bewilderment. _What? I was never like him!_

 _Exactly!_ Doc said, enthusiastic. _You_ _'_ _re pretty much your own guy, right?_

There was beat, where O'Malley observed Doc with barely restrained anger and building confusion. _What_ _…_ _are you talking about?_

 _I dunno. It just seems weird that you_ _'_ _d have to rejoin them to be whole or something. That_ _'_ _s what Sigma wants, right?_ Doc did a mental shrug. _Ehh, I think you_ _'_ _d be fine on your own. I bet they_ _'_ _d see that, too._

O'Malley rippled, irritated but not quite angry. That was sort of normal for him lately, ever since Beta.

 _You really know nothing, DuFresne_ , the AI said, in what amounted to a quiet voice in the back of Doc's mind.

Doc frowned. _I know some things, not to be too boastful or anything, but I guess you_ _'_ _re right. You AI guys are sorta weird. Not that there_ _'_ _s anything wrong with being weird._

_Please shut up._

_You know, manners would work better if they weren't said sarcastically_ , Doc reminded him.

_I hate you._

_Nooo, you doooon_ _'_ _t._

_Shut up!_

"Doc, O'Malley, keep up!" Wash shouted, already a few yards ahead. Tucker had thankfully gone to help him carry Church. They were disappearing around the corner.

"R-right behind you," Doc said. O'Malley scoffed as he took control of their body to run with the others. " _God, I hate all of you._ "

_No, you don_ _'_ _t._

_I am going to eject us both out of an airlock._

**0000**

_IT Center_

Whoever this tech guy was, he most likely wasn't a threat. Simmons had to hope that Delta's lack of negative reaction plus this new guy's apparent connection to the AI meant that it was safe to just stand there. The man wasn't going for help or running away. He seemed focused on Delta, ignoring how Sarge still had his shotgun out and how uneasy the other Reds were.

A half a second of silence passed before Delta managed to say something.

"Dr. Okafor, what are you doing on this ship?" the AI asked, seemingly shocked.

"I could ask the same of you, Delta," this Dr. Okafor replied, looking torn between surprise and bemusement. "But…I guess I already know."

Simmon glanced at the AI near his shoulder. "Delta, you know this guy?" he asked, wary.

Delta nodded. "Yes, he was on the _Falcon_ , with us. He is a tech specialist, mainly with AI housing structures."

That meant he had worked with the AIs, then. Simmons barely remembered all the details Ada had shared with them about her work and who she had worked with. This man had been on their team and, hopefully from what they were seeing now, was one of the good guys for their cause.

That was a strangely nice thing to find now of all times, Simmons thought.

Okafor exhaled sharply. "Delta…" he began. "Please. Just tell me. Is Ada…?"

"Ada is fine," Delta replied.

"Thank God," Okafor said, closing his eyes briefly.

Delta hovered a bit further away from Simmons, his attention still solidly on the stranger. "It is because of you that we were able to get this far," he said. Simmons knew the AI must have really trusted the new guy at that point. "Why are you with these men now?"

Okafor shook his head. "They went on a full lock down when you guys escaped. Everyone was questioned. I guess I answered the questions right, since I was merely transferred." He ran a hand over his face. "Fate seems to favor us meeting, I suppose."

Simmons exchanged a look with Grif. "Is Epsilon really on this ship?" Simmons asked.

His involvement in the conversation seemed to surprise Okafor, who turned to face him. "Yes, as far as I know. Are you…?"

Before Simmons could speak, Delta interrupted. "We have few options and we must act quickly," he said, forcing Okafor to look back at him. "Reclaiming our missing parts is the only thing that we can truly do to remedy the condition of myself and my siblings."

Okafor's brown furrowed. "But Ada? Iowa?"

Delta hesitated.

"We have fewer options for them," he admitted, not happy about it.

Okafor's shoulders slumped. "I see."

Behind Simmons, Donut cleared his throat, making Simmons jump. When he looked at the pink soldier, Donut had his arms crossed.

"Um…rude?" he said. "Introduce us, Delta!"

"Apologies," Delta said automatically. He nodded at the Reds. "Dr. Okafor, these are Red simulation soldiers. They and their Blue counterparts have been aiding our escape from Freelancer and UNSC forces."

"I figured," Okafor said. He looked over at the Reds, curious. "Why would you risk so much?"

Sarge snorted. "Son, we're not risking any more than we already have."

That seemed to confuse the lab tech. "What…?" he started to ask, but he stopped himself. His eyes widened. "Wait."

He looked at the Reds and then at Delta and then back at the Reds. Simmons saw the man's face go from confusion to recognition.

"Oh, God," Okafor said, shocked. "It's _them_? The ones that were in the files?"

"Huh?" Grif asked, surprised.

The lab tech kept starting at them, eyes wide. Slowly, the shock faded. He looked back at Delta, who was silently watching back. Okafor blinked several times.

"The universe really is a small place after all," he said, laughing breathlessly.

Delta tilted his head. "I am beginning to see the rationality behind that phrase."

Okafor seemed to get himself together, ignoring the uncertainty coming from the Reds now.

"Listen. I don't know much, but what I do know is that the Chairman is angry. He won't see reason," he said, mostly to Delta. "He's put out orders for all of your arrests. He wants you alive, but…"

"The Director has not been removed from his position," Delta concluded, darkly.

Okafor shook his head. "He isn't in charge of any Freelancer resources. That much, I'm sure," he said. "But he's not under arrest. He's back on his assigned vessel, waiting for a trial. It can't happen until all the AIs have been reclaimed."

"Then why not go to them now?" Grif said, irritated. "We could nail the guy now!"

"Yeah! I like the sound of that!" Donut said, enthusiastic.

"Because…" Okafor began, trailing off as his eyes went to Delta. The AI seemed to understand.

"The trial is only a means to destroy the Director once and for all," Delta said, the grimness of his conclusion somewhat alleviated by his matter-of-fact tone. "After we serve our purpose, the UNSC will proceed in its decision to delete the AIs involved."

Okafor smiled, the gesture bitter. "A humane gesture," he said, like he didn't mean it.

Delta remained impassive. "Indeed."

Simmons shifted uncomfortably. The more that was revealed about their actual situation—and not just the depressive guessing they were often left to make—the more depressing it actually wound up being.

"We must ask ourselves," Delta continued. "Is our revenge worth our death? Is it worth the punishment of the simulation soldiers? Of Iowa and Ada?"

"Right," Okafor said, frowning.

The AI hesitated. "I cannot speak for the others," he said. "But I…am conflicted."

"I know you are, Delta," Okafor said, frustrated. "I'm sorry it's come to this. You guys—"

None of them were prepared for the explosion that sent all of them flying. The actual blast wasn't in the room or anywhere near, Simmons thought, since there was no fire or physical blast. Still, it had to be close, since the alarms started to shriek and all of them found themselves on the floor.

Gasping, Simmons tried to think quickly. The entire ship seemed to have moved, so it had to have been a big explosion. He couldn't imagine with their brand of luck that it had been an accident. It had to have been the distraction Texas had promised them.

 _Crazy bitch_ , he thought, scrambling to get to his feet.

"GEEZ!" Grif shouted, rolling over as he tried to stand up too. Donut was helping Sarge stand. "What was that? !"

Over their comm. lines, Texas was suddenly shouting at them.

" _REDS!_ " she yelled. " _All of you, back to the docking bay!_ "

"Y-yeah, we heard you the first time, you know, with the giant explosion!" Grif snapped back. "What's going on? !"

Texas did not sound happy. " _The fuck if I know, but let_ _'_ _s just call it actual luck that someone else is giving them hell_ ," she said. She sounded like she was running, even though she wouldn't get out of breath. " _Can you get back to the docking bay without me? I have heavy security on my end._ "

She didn't know? What did that mean? Simmons had thought she had everything under control! Unless the _Endeavor_ was being attacked by another entity besides them, how couldn't it have Texas? !

"We can find our way back, don't you worry," Sarge said, regaining his poise. "Need any help?"

" _Nah, thanks_ ," Texas said. There was still audible gunfire and the alarm repeating the background of her open line. " _Good luck, guys_."

"Yeah, you, too," Simmons replied. Ohhhh, man. He was not looking forward to escaping this. If there was a third-party involved, it didn't mean anything good for them.

Sarge nodded at his men once Texas signed off. "Come on, let's move," he ordered, starting to turn for the door. The alarm was annoyingly loud, but the flashing was worse from the lights—

"Wait," Delta said, causing them to pause. He turned back to Okafor. "Thank you for your help, Dr. Okafor. I do not know where we will end up next, but you have given us time. Thank you, for that."

Okafor started to nod, but then his eyes went to the computer Simmons was standing in front of. "What were you trying to do?" he asked, peering at the screen.

Realization hit Simmons. "Oh, shit, we gotta delete that!" he said, diving for the computer. "It's our records!"

"Huh?" Okafor asked, startled.

"The Blues are already deleted, so we figured we could delete us, too," Donut answered. "To avoid getting in trouble and stuff later."

Okafor's eyes were narrowed. "Wait, records? How long have you been enlisted?"

"Huh?" Simmons frowned. "Um…six years, I guess. Not counting boot camp."

He did not like how hesitant Okafor was. "These are only current rosters," the lab tech told them, looking at the screen. "I don't know where they keep them, but they probably still have your enlistment records elsewhere."

"What?" Simmons asked, horrified. "Oh, no!"

The plan! The whole plan to get them out of there—it wouldn't work? That meant all the original Blue records were still available, too! It might have helped cover Wash if they only had old records of the original Blood Gulch crew left (they could always say Wash joined later) but it did nothing to hide the remaining original teammates!

"Shit!" Grif said, also aghast. "We needed them to forget our names, not just our last base location!"

"So this isn't going to work?" Sarge demanded.

Donut brought his hands to his chest plates. "Oh, no!"

"Wait, wait…" Okafor began, leaning over the desk and reaching for the controls. "I think it could. It wouldn't be deleting anything, but—"

Suddenly, their radios burst on with a cacophony of voices speaking over each other on the radio. Simmons winced.

" _Reds, where are you? !_ " Iowa shouted. He sounded like he was moving fast. " _Did you hear Tex? !_ "

" _Dex, hurry up!_ " Sister also threw in, sounding like she wasn't moving, but she sounded freaked anyway. " _Like, holy shit, you are_ not _gonna believe_ _—_ "

"We're on the way, damn it," Sarge snapped back.

"Ah, shit, we have to go!" Grif said. "Forget the computers!"

Simmons wanted to argue that they had to at least try, but Grif was right. If they couldn't just delete the files and be done with it, what was the point? He wanted to kick the damn computer in frustration—but they had to move. He grabbed his gun and did his best to stay calm.

Okafor, however, seemed to become calmer. "Go. If they know your names, there might not be much that can be fixed," he said. "But I'll see what I can do."

"Dr. Okafor, if you are caught—," Delta began, warningly.

The scientist raised his hand to cut him off. "I've done my fair share of messing with official records, Delta. Don't worry," he said, smiling briefly. "Be safe. Tell Ada that I'm still rooting for you guys."

"I will," Delta said, inclining his holographic head. "Thank you."

Okafor nodded stiffly. "Good luck," he said.

They left him standing there, in front of the computers, and Simmons could only hope the trust of an AI in the man amounted to something worthwhile.

**0000**

_Docking Bay_

Getting back down to the docking bay was easy enough. Most of the soldiers that had followed them to the lab had been taken out, but the remaining groups on the lower floors had been distracted by the mysterious explosion for certain. It also helped that by the time they stumbled down the stairs to get to the docking bay, chaos was already in full force.

Mainly, Texas. Or so Iowa assumed. All they could see when they rushed into the room were UNSC soldiers ducking in and out from behind crates and utility trucks as they fired haphazardly at someone or a group of people out of sight. Iowa could only assume it was Texas and the Reds.

"Oh, boy, they started the party without us," Iowa whistled as he and the Blues and O'Malley settle behind the nearest crates.

They were close to the second shuttle, but getting there would require them to go out into the open. There were too many soldiers nearby to risk it, considering Wash and Tucker had to drag Church with them. The AI was still mostly unresponsive, barely able to move his robotic legs.

Wash grunted as he glanced over the edge of the crate. "O'Malley can you do something about the alarms? Or lock down the room?"

" _No_ ," O'Malley said, immediately and annoyed. " _I refuse to leave my host for that length of time. The amount of effort it would take to disable the alarms for this entire sector of the ship would be a waste_ _—_ "

"Jesus, it's not that hard," Tucker complained.

" _You try it then, meatsack!_ " O'Malley hissed.

Tucker snorted. "What, you can't do something that Church can?"

"Both of you, knock it off," Iowa snapped. He braced his back against the crate and tried to calculate how far they had to run to get to the other batch of crates and the shuttle. "We clear a path and get to the crates by the shuttle. Avoid drawing their fire to the ships, since they could get damaged."

"Um, Iowa?" Tucker began, interrupting.

Iowa looked at the other man, who was leaning strangely far out from around the crate, clearly "What?"

"Look," the other soldier said, pointing out at the scene before them.

Turning, Iowa was not prepared to see what seemed like a single soldier breaking free from the ranks of the UNSC soldiers that were streaming into the docking bay—and instead of helping the UNSC, the reverse seemed true.

Specifically, this soldier—dressed in black armor that resembled something like first generation Freelancer armor—was punching, kicking and breaking through the lines of security officers like they were breaking waves of water. They moved efficiently and smoothly and far faster than anyone else out there in the field.

 _Holy shit_ , Iowa thought. That wasn't Texas. That wasn't anyone on their team.

He had absolutely no idea who that was.

"Who the fuck is that?" Tucker asked, bewildered.

Wash hesitated. "I…have no idea."

"They appear to be on our side," Iowa said, frowning as they watched the soldier kick some serious ass with those UNSC soldiers. "Maybe."

" _Don_ _'_ _t be so trusting, fools_ ," O'Malley snapped, suddenly closer. " _An enemy to this army does not mean they are our ally_."

"No shit," Iowa told him, barely glancing over at him. "We need to get to the shuttle."

Wash nodded and went for his radio. "Caboose, what is your location?"

There was a distinct pause and then a click.

" _Ah…ah…_ " Caboose began, either awkward because he was nervous or because he wasn't used to the radio. " _Inside_?"

Wash made a patient sigh. "Our shuttle?"

" _No. The new one_ ," Caboose said.

"New…oh." Iowa blinked and stared at the second shuttle that was closer to their location, which had been parked there when they had first arrived. "They switched?"

That was smart and part of their plans, but nothing they had voiced earlier to the others. Good thinking on the group left behind, then.

" _Iowa, this is Ada speaking_ ," Ada suddenly said, taking over the comm.

Iowa was immediately flooded with relief and fear. "Ada, you okay?" he asked, not liking how close the fighting was to the shuttle.

Ada sounded safe, but her nervousness was unsettling. " _Y-yes, but, ah, it_ _'_ _d be best if we left soon_."

"We got a lot of security out here," Iowa told her. And an unknown figure that could have been good or bad news.

" _Isn_ _'_ _t she helping?_ " Ada asked, surprised.

She. The stranger seemingly on their side. Interesting.

"Who is that? Do you know her?" Wash asked, before Iowa could. "That's not Sigma, is it?"

" _Oh, no, that_ _'_ _s not_ _…_ " Ada cut off. She came back, sounding more nervous. " _Look, as much as I sound ignorant saying this, but_ please _hurry up. We really do not have much time_."

"You don't need to tell us," Iowa said, frowning. "Our unknown assistant is bringing down the lines. Let's wrap it up and make a break for the shuttle."

"Sounds good to me," Tucker muttered.

" _We can_ _'_ _t leave without her_ ," Ada interrupted, sounding like her attention was split.

"Why?" Iowa asked, concerned. "Liv, _who_ is that—?"

"Iowa, look out!" Wash shouted, dropping his side of Church to bring up his gun.

Iowa whirled around and saw two security officers appear around the corner, pointing their guns at them. "Shit!"

He dove low, ducking behind the crate just as a hail of bullets ripped into the metal box. He didn't see where Wash or Tucker went, but O'Malley managed to get a miraculous shot in ("Oh, I got one! Oh, wait, that's bad. O'Malley!" " _Shut up, DuFresne!_ "). Iowa heard the soldier scream and he took the change to return the volley. He got the injured man, but the remaining soldier ducked.

Just before Iowa had to worry about leaving cover to handle it, Texas appeared like a bird of prey, leaping right overhead. She fired as she jumped down, getting a clean shot on the soldier, who slammed into the crate and then slumped over.

Iowa exhaled noisily as he took account of their side. Nobody was injured. Good.

"Hey, thanks, Tex," he said, brushing off his nerves.

Texas shook her head as she reloaded her gun quickly. "Don't mention it."

"Like our new friend?" Iowa asked, jerking his head toward the unknown soldier seemingly fighting for them. "Dunno where she came from, but you think she's the one who caused the explosion?"

"She did," Texas said, so abruptly, it was somewhat jarring. "Move back to the shuttle and get ready for launch."

Before she turned to return to the fray, she hesitated upon seeing Church dangling between Tucker and Wash. Iowa had never seen her hesitate like that; it didn't seem to be in her nature to be surprised by things.

"Hello, Epsilon," she said, calm. Her posture was still tense.

Church turned his head toward her and offered a dull, "Hello, Tex."

That was it. Wash pushed Church off to Tucker to help drag the AI to the shuttle while Texas ran off to fight their remaining foes. She wasn't fighting alone, at least.

Iowa did his part—or as much as he could in such chaos—by picking off the soldiers that came into range. He covered Wash, Tucker and Church getting into the shuttle and it was difficult not to head in there behind them, to check on Ada and figure out what was going on.

Their surprising ally, temporary or something more complicated, was tearing up the line of soldiers all too easily. Her fighting style wasn't exactly like Texas', but honestly, he was reminded of her by just how strong and fast she was. Actually, she was faster than Texas, if not less brutal.

Texas was helping clean up stragglers, not venturing too close to the unknown fighter. Iowa wasn't sure what to think of that, even as Wash rejoined him and didn't seem to be sharing anything he learned from Ada, if he had even asked.

Out from the far corner, the Reds came running, firing haphazardly as they rushed past enemies. Texas dove over to cover them.

"Reds!" she bellowed. "Move your asses!"

"We're trying!" Simmons shot back. He yelped when gunfire started up again, pointed their way. "Ahh, there's so many!"

"Less than earlier, if you can believe it," Texas said, amused as they all moved closer to the shuttles. Even if there were more soldiers incoming, if they could just get clear to launch, they should have taken the advantage.

Donut stopped near Iowa's position. "Who is that? I thought that was Tex at first!" he exclaimed, pointing at the unknown female soldier knock out three UNSC soldiers in a row.

Iowa didn't want to admit ignorance at a time like that, but it was Wash who shook his head. "We don't know, but they seem to be helping, so let's leave them be."

That was awfully magnanimous of him, Iowa thought. He took one more shot at a security soldier who got into range of shooting at the Reds before he hurried to the shuttle ramp. He had his own priorities.

Relief flooded him when he saw Ada standing at the top, peering out worriedly. She didn't have the AIs with her and her helmet was off, however, so Iowa was immediately concerned with the reasons why she'd appear like that, in the middle of a fight.

Closing the distance between them, he grabbed her by the arms and refrained from merely hugging her. It wasn't the time.

"Hey, hey, are you all right?" he asked, trying to see if she had any injuries. Her armor seemed untouched, but he was concerned why she had taken her helmet off. "Liv, are you—?"

"We're fine," she said, her eyes telling him that she was upset over something, but not terribly so.

Iowa glanced back down the ramp, where the mysterious woman was still fighting. "Who is that?"

Ada looked like she was trying to stay calm herself. "You… you need to make sure… no one panics," she said, speaking carefully. "And that Sigma stays out of sight."

"Why?" Iowa demanded. What did Sigma have to do with anything?

She took a breath. "Iowa, that's…" Ada began, faltering.

Outside, the gunfire stopped. Iowa turned and tried to see past the ramp as the Reds finally came charging up, shouting that the coast was clear. He couldn't see where the unknown fighter was.

Texas came up last from their crew, her posture screaming violence, but she ignored them as she stomped toward the front of the ship. No one dared stop her.

"Everyone buckle in, now!" she shouted.

"Tex, should we wait for the soldier out there?" Wash asked, setting Church down in one of the seats.

"Should we? Fuck no," Texas said, her voice biting. "Are we? Unfortunately, yes."

Wash turned towards her. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, irritated.

She ignored him and turned to everyone else. "Buckle in," she ordered. "We're getting the fuck out of dodge."

None of that was encouraging. In fact, it was alarming and Iowa had no idea how to approach the situation. If the unknown woman out there was a threat, Texas would never let her on board. Still, something was off about the situation and every instinct he had told him it was wrong.

Ada reached out to grab Iowa's arm gently, getting his attention.

"Please," she said, eyes shining. "Don't… freak out."

That was _so_ not promising.

"You telling me this way is not helping me not to freak out, Ada," Iowa told her, shaking his head.

"She's helping us," Ada insisted. "We have to trust that."

"Who is she—?" he started to ask again.

Iowa flinched when he heard someone walk up behind him, up the ramp just as the engines started to rumble beneath them.

" _She_ is standing right here and can answer your questions once we're off this ship," the stranger said, almost amused.

He didn't recognize the voice, but even if it was another ex-Freelancer, it wasn't too big of a surprise if he didn't know her. Still, he turned around warily and did his best to identify her quickly. She was standing there patiently as Texas got the ship moving. It lurched as the rear doors shut with a hiss, drenching them in dim lighting once again.

In that poor quality light, their unwanted assistant decided to drop her disguise. It was a mod—some sort of cloak or camouflage gear—that let the standard dark armor color fade away like washed-off paint. Iowa watched warily as the dark faded into something much lighter. It was similar to Tucker's paint job. Some sort of blue or… or…

Iowa stared at the teal armor, the petite form, the brutality present in every small movement. It was all he could do for a full second.

It all made sense and not in a good way.

"Agent Carolina," he said, in an exhale.

She tilted her visored helmet his way. "Pleasure," she said.

 _Perfect_ , Iowa thought, while more than one AI and ex-Freelancer around him burst into shouting.

**End** _**Chapter 25** _ **.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D
> 
>  **A/Ns** :  
> -THE QUEEN HAS ARRIVED  
> -" _I am going to eject us both out of an airlock._ _"_ – Nah, you wouldn't O'Malley.  
>  -"petite form" – Season 12 made Carolina look like a giant while in season 9-10, she was much smaller. I like short Carolina. Short, deadly, brutal Carolina.  
> -I see no reason why Sister wouldn't have some of Grif's vehicle-talents. And by talents, I mean basic Driver's Ed.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays! Still struggling with work. But HEY, we're not on Nexus/aka the RvB planet/moon anymore? Yooooo.
> 
> **Warnings** : implied slash (pairings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : _Red vs. Blue_ © Rooster Teeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.

 

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Those were the first words out of his mouth and Tucker knew nobody bothered to hear him or his indignant outrage at this new round of bullshit, since everyone else all started to scream or talk at once right over him.

Naturally, the Reds and Blues had no idea what was happening, but that didn't stop Simmons or Donut from screaming when O'Malley, Wash, Church and Delta all jumped up (literally or figuratively) at once, yelling or speaking loudly. Church had been lying on the seat limply at first, but had somehow gotten the power to struggle to sit up in some newfound desperation to be upright in the presence of this new chick—clearly a Freelancer, given the state name bullshit again.

Delta, next to the Reds still, had turned a rather bright shade of red, speaking loudly and clearly about " _potential enemy fighter detected._ " O'Malley was screeching something—pretty obscene, even to somebody like Tucker, but it was mostly unintelligible at that point. The AI inside of Doc had mirrored Church's take on scrambling up the seats like a cat afraid of a full bathtub.

Wash had stumbled backwards and Tucker was more alarmed by his shock than anything else.

"—what the fuck? !" Wash yelled. "Carolina—? !"

"There's no need to panic!" Livingston called out, worried. She, Sister and Caboose didn't seem too upset over this reveal, though Tucker then realized they probably had been the first ones to meet their unknown helper.

Iowa was dragging the psychologist back toward the front of the ship, edging slowly away from the new Freelancer. "That's a funny one, Liv. You should do stand-up."

"— _SHOOT HER! DO SOMETHING!_ " O'Malley broke in, starting to sound frantic.

"SHUT UP!" Texas roared from the front of the ship.

Everyone flinched at the volume. Tucker saw Texas at the controls of the ship as they rocketed away from the _Endeavor_. She was punching controls with so much force and contained aggression that it was surprising she hadn't broken something yet.

"If one more person screams one more fucking thing, I will open the rear doors and whoever doesn't react fast enough is getting spaced!" she shouted, sounding royally pissed off.

" _That's Carolina, you fool!_ " O'Malley shouted. " _Agent Carolina!_ "

"I _know_ that, O'Malley!" Texas snapped.

"Don't look at me," the new Freelancer—Carolina—said, still standing there, cool as a cucumber. "I just got here."

Tucker tried to get some sort of read on her as he stood back with Church, unsure whether to get his weapon out or not like Sarge had. This chick—he had long since stopped feeling glee over meeting new women out where they were, since usually they were nothing but homicidal trouble—was about his size and wore similar color armor. Her helmet was a bit different and the color was more blue than green compared to his. Her posture was lax and seemingly carefree, but she was a Freelancer.

And that meant that she was more than capable of kicking more ass than the Reds and Blues could have hoped to do on their own. Her stunt back on the _Endeavor_ sort of proved that.

She had helped them, though Tucker couldn't help but wonder if that had been deliberate or just a coincidence.

"And why _are_ you here?" Tucker asked, feeling a little wary when her attention went to him. He hated scary women. They were worse than clingy ones.

"Um, who is she?" Donut added, finally having stopped shrieking.

Wash was not where as casual as Carolina seemed to be. He almost seemed jittery. "A Freelancer," he said, voice strained. "My old boss."

"Wait, I thought that Director fellow was your boss," Sarge said, confused.

"She was the leader of our squad," Wash said, impatient. He looked back at Carolina, still audibly shaken. "Jesus Christ… Carolina, you… you're supposed…"

"To be dead?" Carolina surprised. Her voice, which had been purposely light, took on a sharper tone. "Yeah, well, surprise, Wash."

Wash sounded strangled. "How?"

"That's something you and I can discuss later," Carolina said, blunt. She then turned her head towards the rest of the crowd watching her. "But for right now, I need to speak to all of you. Whoever you are."

"They're just simulation—!" Wash immediately said, alarmed.

Carolina turned her head back to him, her visor and tone making her inscrutable. "You misunderstand me. I don't care who they are," she said. "You _ruined_ my plans."

Texas abruptly slid from her seat to face them and Tucker could only hope she had been smart enough to set the autopilot.

"And just what was your plan, Carolina?" the other ex-Freelancer asked, stepping closer and the tension that was already high in the shuttle increased tenfold.

Carolina merely watched her, apparently undaunted. "I needed to grab the only evidence left against the Director, to send to the right hands," she said. Her one hand clenched into a fist. "Not this bullshit, fake tribunal."

"Evidence?" Wash repeated. He hesitated. "Wait, do you mean—Epsilon?"

"Yeah, Wash, your old AI," Carolina said. She crossed her arms against her chestplate. "He's the only AI left from the Project with access to the information we need to properly bring down the Director."

There was a pause. An audible, awkward one.

"Um," Simmons began, but stopped himself.

Carolina was apparently rather quick. She glanced around them and judged their nervousness appropriately.

"What?" she demanded, a bit sharply.

"Should, ah, someone tell her?" Simmons asked, meekly looking around at their friends. "Preferably not me?"

"Jesus Christ," Church murmured, falling back into his seat.

Carolina, despite seemingly calm in the face of potential threats, apparently didn't have a lot of patience. "What are you talking about? Answer me, Wash," she demanded, looking back to her old teammate.

Wash hesitated again, fidgeting in a way Tucker wasn't used to seeing. "Epsilon isn't the only one of them that, ah, knows, Carolina," he said, lamely.

The aqua-colored Freelancer in front of him great tenser. "The others are inconsequential. The Committee's records that I found—"

"Are a bit outdated, I'm afraid," Livingston interrupted lightly. She wilted a bit when Carolina's visor turned her way. "Hi, I'm one of their treatment supervisors. Dr. Ada Livingston."

"I don't care," Carolina immediately said, her voice flat. Livingston hesitated.

Iowa cleared his throat. "You should, considering we're about to tell you that your plans aren't totally foiled."

"Speak _plainly_ ," Carolina demanded, now sounding actually pissed off.

"We have Epsilon, or whatever he and Alpha managed to merge into—," Wash began.

"THEY _WHAT_? !" Livingston screeched, causing Tucker to wince and Simmons to jump.

"—and we have the other AIs, who are pretty much caught up on the bullshit Epsilon knows. He got a message out to them, back on the _Mother of Invention_ , just before the crash," Wash continued, speaking only to Carolina. "That's what drove Sigma to act then. It's how she figured out the truth."

Carolina hesitated, the tension in her shoulders changing from being caused by anger to being caused by uncertainty.

"Then…" she started to say, trailing off, her gaze slowly moving to the side.

For a second, Tucker thought she was looking at Texas in the cockpit, but when he turned to see what she was looking at, he realized Texas wasn't alone. A familiar robotic body was standing next to her, looking identical if it weren't for the difference in pose. Texas was stiff and almost on edge. The other, well, seemed far too casual for the situation.

It took Carolina a moment, staring down this new AI, and Tucker had to credit her ability to just know what—and who—she was looking at.

"You," Carolina said, at first low and dangerous. Tucker could almost _see_ the rising wave of anger and hate in her body.

"My, my," Sigma drawled, leaning against the bulkhead and doors of the cockpit, deceptively calm. "You make me believe in ghosts, Agent Carolina."

" _You_ ," Carolina repeated, voice full of venom and so dark and so black that Tucker gulped. She took a step forward, hand going for her gun.

_Here it is_ , Tucker thought, the missing threat of their imminent deaths. He was wondering where that had gone.

"Fuck, this ship is too small for a beat down!" Grif immediately yelped, diving over top of Simmons for the very back of the ship.

Thankfully, Wash threw himself in front of Carolina, hands stretched out beseechingly.

"Carolina, wait!" he said. "I know…I know you want to get revenge. But-!"

"She is a _monster_ ," Carolina spat. She pointed at the AI, the gesture as threatening as it would have been if she were holding her gun out. "She murdered our friends!"

Sigma remained purposely relaxed. "Actually, I recall murdering only a few. The others managed to kill each other quite well enough without my intervention," she said. She paused and said thoughtfully, "I will take credit for throwing you off that cliff, though."

Carolina cracked. "You—!"

Before she could get close to reach Sigma, Texas moved. She moved as quick as she had back on the _Endeavor_ , back in the full throes of fighting, as if she didn't care about the confining nature of the ship. Suddenly, she was right there on Sigma, grabbing the AI by the shoulders and then Sigma was on the ground, slammed down like a metal ragdoll.

Nobody moved. Livingston had opened her mouth, but Iowa had hauled her back into the seats behind him. Sarge had his shotgun out and Tucker had gone for his sword briefly, before he realized they weren't looking at a fight. Texas had Sigma pinned with her foot grinding down onto the robot's chestplates.

"Stay down," Texas said, voice as unhindered as ever, even after moving so quickly.

Sigma, had she eyes, probably would have blinked lazily. "You know, I miss having a flesh-based host, but I'm grateful for the loss of pain receptors," she said.

Texas' foot went down just a fraction harder. The metal screeched faintly. "Stay. Down."

Thankfully, Sigma continued to lie there impassively. Tucker glanced back at Carolina, who had frozen up, her rage still hanging from her limbs.

"Texas—," she started to say, still sounding dangerous.

"Sigma's not a threat to you. Neither are the others," Texas replied, turning her head back to face the other ex-Freelancer. "Only Zeta, Delta, Lambda, Tau, Omega and Sigma are left. The others merged into a few of them."

She paused and then turned over towards Church, who was just watching her back, his entire body draped over the seats like he was exhausted. Tucker wondered if robots could feel exhausted.

"And Epsilon and Alpha," Texas said, nodding her head slowly. "They're both together now."

Carolina flinched. "Alpha?" she repeated. She turned and stared at Church. Her anger towards Sigma seemed to fade into genuine surprise. "You…"

"Don't talk to him," Texas said, sharply enough to get Carolina to look back at her. "Talk to me. Just what have you been up to, Carolina?"

Tucker was expecting a fight. Some new sort of blow up to fit their equally fucked up situation. Nothing said "the average life of the Reds or Blues" than a robot/Freelancer brawl inside a tiny ass space ship while fleeing the entire fucking army.

He watched the stare-down, unhappy with how tense Carolina was, with how Wash kept looking between Carolina and Texas as if he was having trouble deciding who to intercede for, with how Church was just staring Carolina down like a deflated balloon over on the seats.

After what felt like hours, but was probably just a minute, Carolina spoke. She didn't stop being tense, but there was less sharpness in her voice.

"I was headed to Perian Johei," she said. It wasn't deliberately loud, but in the confines of the shuttle, she might as well have shouted it.

Grif hesitated. "What's that?"

"A colony, off-grid. They're known for smugglers and all sorts of illegal trade, just outside of the UNSC's radar of interest during the war," Iowa said. He sounded god-awfully tense, too. "About four days from here."

"More like five," Carolina said, coolly. "This sector's going to be hot for awhile. You did just break into a high security UNSC vessel."

"We didn't blow it up, though," Tucker said. "You did."

"And I didn't steal classified military technology. _You_ did," she replied, unkindly. She turned back to Wash and Texas, pointing at Sigma briefly. "I'm not working with that monster. Once we're at Perian Johei, I'm going back underground. It took me months to plan infiltrating that damn ship. I need to rethink."

"Wait, why?" Wash asked, bewildered. "Epsilon's right here."

Making a low noise, Church struggled to sit up straighter. "I'm not…" he began, voice skipping strangely. "Going anywhere with you, b-bitch."

"You heard him," Texas said, without missing a beat. "He stays here."

"Texas—," Carolina started to say.

Texas cut her off. "Thanks for the distraction, but you need to understand that what you're fighting for is what we're fighting for," she said, bluntly. "But if you don't want to play nice, by all means, get lost. I've been stuck in boxes for most of my existence, but rest assured, Carolina, I had plans, too. I'm going to see them finished."

When she paused, Texas started to move forward. Carolina tensed up like she was expecting a fight and Tucker started to wonder just how easy it might have been to eject just those two out of the backdoors.

Like water on fighting cats, he thought darkly. He doubted most of the others would want that, of course.

"Maybe you should consider the possibility it'd be easier to get what we both want if we work together," Texas said, quietly.

Carolina just stared her down. "Why would I ever want to work with you?" she asked. She sounded deadly again.

"We were a team once," Texas said, now just two feet from Carolina, strangely tall compared to the other woman though they were almost the same height. "No matter what I am, or was, or what version I am, we all remember being there with you. Delta with York, Theta with North, Gamma with Wyoming—Alpha with _all_ of us."

The way she moved—with a slight inhale of breath like she was going to say something—made it seem like Carolina wanted to contest that. She didn't though. She said nothing; she instead stood there with hackles raised.

It was times like those that Tucker wished he knew more (or at least paid attention to Wash's briefly mentioned stories) about what happened at Freelancer. About who all those people were, aside from Wyoming, whom Tucker was grateful he had killed. It had always struck him as odd that people could have cared about him, or that asshole Maine who became the Meta, or even Texas, who seemed like someone who never fit in with a team, not like Wash.

He knew nothing about Carolina, but she seemed like someone Wash was concerned about. Someone he trusted.

Tucker did his best not to think about how poor in judgment Wash usually was about trusting people from his past, though.

"What is it that you want?" Texas asked.

Carolina didn't even flinch. "The Director needs to pay for what he did."

"Then help us _make_ him pay," Texas challenged.

"I thought we were running," Donut said, his voice light. Sarge grunted in agreement.

"We are," Texas said, glancing over at them, as if only then realizing the rest of them were still there, too. She hesitated. "You are. But for some of us, it's only a temporary break."

Iowa sighed. "Right."

"My contact at Perian Johei won't like the crowd," she said. She paused, her visor going back over to Wash. "But I'll see if we can at least dock without your horde attracting security."

Wash nodded, still taken aback. "Thank you."

"Seriously, why are you with so many people?" Carolina abruptly asked, changing from angry to bewildered again. "Who are they?"

"My friends," Wash said, automatically. He spoke a bit too quickly, betraying a sort of nervousness that Tucker had never heard coming from him before. "They're just simulation soldiers, from Freelancer. You wouldn't believe the crap they've—"

"I don't care," Carolina said, bluntly. She moved past Texas and headed for the front of the cockpit. "Tell your friends to stay quiet. You and I need to talk."

"Carolina—," Wash began.

"Now, Washington."

Tucker didn't know who she is or why she suddenly plopped down in the middle of their shitfest of an adventure, but he didn't like it. He didn't like her. Something about her reminded him of Texas, but without the restraint. Like some sort of vengeance monster that didn't know friend from foe.

He especially didn't like how Wash just took it and stared after her like a lost puppy.

"What a bitch," Tucker said, meaning it.

"You don't know her," Wash said, so quickly and automatically, it sort of stung.

Tucker snorted. "You do. Boy, I thought it was just Church who brought home the terrifying, bitchy women, but I guess you can raise the bar, too."

"She saved our lives," Wash tried.

"Maybe," Tucker replied. He glared. "But it doesn't look like she intended to."

"Tucker…please," Wash said, disturbingly pleading.

His loyalty to the Reds and Blues had never been divided like that. He had always been plain with his actions. Either with them or against them.

This was too much to fucking handle at this point.

Tucker shook his head and turned back to Caboose and the Reds, who were still just sort of standing there, looking lost and confused.

Untethered could be a word for it. Tucker certainly felt it applied to him, plus a bunch of other crappy emotions.

"Tucker?" Caboose asked, wary.

"Just sit down and buckle in," Tucker said, feeling heavy all over.

It was the only thing he could offer, especially when he watched Wash cross over and close the door of the cockpit behind him, alone with Texas and Carolina on the other side.

_Shit._

**0000**

_4.5 Days Later  
Perian Johei – West Lincoln Docking Bay_

Surviving almost five days stuck in a shuttle with everyone had gone hilariously well, all things considered. Wash had to figure that the exhaustion, terror, and crushing sense of imminent death caused most of their compromising silence. It wasn't like they had too many choices in front of them.

Perian Johei was one of the colonies that had survived the war by barely showing up on anybody's radars, Covenant or UNSC. It had sidestepped invasion at the same time as it had sidestepped regulation by a desperate, martial-law interstellar economy. That meant there wasn't government support, like supplies or protection, coming their way, but that also meant the trader world could do whatever it pleased to survive. By the time the war ended and the UNSC remembered the lucrative possibilities of the trade routes that went that way, Perian Johei's long-embedded rules left it a difficult place for the UNSC to simply regain control of.

It was a lawless place, buried under propaganda that the UNSC kept spewing out. Wash knew that the increasingly prevalent reports of the UNSC gaining back territory and restoring order were overblown as it was. This hadn't been a war that would only take a few years to recover from. That still left Perian Johei in an interesting position: a place the UNSC would swear it protected adequately, including its ports, and that there was no way wanted criminals could just disappear there.

But in reality, the opposite was true. The leaders of Perian Johei were in it for money and they weren't handing back control to the military any time soon. They were going to fight it for a long time.

Which worked out perfectly for their group, anyway. Carolina really had thought this through. Almost distressing so.

"They won't be able to track the shuttle," she told them, days ago, when they first started out. She and Texas had been working on something up at the front of the ship, at the controls. "I picked up a few tricks over the years, plus some remnants from Freelancer's experimental stocks. Cloaking device adapted for ships."

"That's going to take a lot of power to run, won't it?" Iowa had asked.

"We'll only use it to get us some distance, just to be safe," Texas said, shrugging it off before going back over to Church.

It thankfully didn't wipe out their fuel cell to get them to the colony, which came up like some purple-blue specter in the dark space around them. Only Donut and Caboose seemed oblivious enough to be happy about getting to the planet. Wash wasn't sure if he was proud or not for the others to take it so seriously and somberly. It was more depressing than anything else.

Luckily, they were all distracted by the new rules they had to play by.

Namely, trying to blend in.

"Everyone, keep your heads down," he warned as they came in through the bumpy atmosphere, Texas at the controls again. "Don't talk to anyone, don't go anywhere except as a small group, and try not acting suspicious."

"I feel naked," Simmons said, awkwardly shifting in his exo-suit next to the other Reds.

"And not in a good way," Donut said, disappointed.

Wash rolled his eyes, but he had to admit, this was probably more terrifying that raiding the _Endeavor_. Walking out onto Perian Johei without their armor seemed insane. But it was the only way to remain undetected for now. They would keep the armor on the shuttle until they could grab crates from around the docking bay and get them out of sight to take with them. Carolina warned them she could only buy them a few hours with her contact to do all that and keep dock authority from inspecting their shuttle, which they'd eventually abandon.

Everyone fell into the plan wearily, reluctantly, but without much complaint. Livingston seemed properly concerned about how to manage the AI containment unit, plus their two robot members, who unfortunately couldn't just shed their armor for a better disguise. The best option they had was for them to hop back in the containment unit until they could transfer the robots in the crates. Sigma was less than pleased, but it was Livingston who spoke up for Church.

"He's not stable," she said, desperate. "With Epsilon and Alpha merging, they might not be able to handle jumping yet."

"We don't have a choice," Wash said.

Texas leaned against the bulkhead, casual as always. "I'm staying with the ship. I ain't jumping anywhere else. We can move out with just three of us armored later."

The AIs didn't have customized coloration to their armor, at least. Just blank gray that didn't catch the eye as easily. Wash could only hope that'd be discrete enough to waylay detection.

O'Malley was another issue and it had taken the better of three days to convince him to let Doc merely carry his helmet around in his arms. The threat of being killed outright when they were exposed was the only thing that worked against him. Doc had fidgeted nervously the whole time and didn't seem happy with the arrangement either. Wash didn't want to know why.

Glancing to the side past Tucker, who still wasn't speaking to him, he saw Carolina leaning out as the rear doors opened, the gust of wind hitting them all harshly.

Carolina looked small again, outside her armor. Her red hair was short now, cropped sharply, and it only made her face seem more angled than before. Her eyes, although lined with deep, dark rings, were still the same piercing green as they always had been and looking at her was nauseatingly nostalgic.

There was something off about her. Wash knew that she was probably just as messed up as he was—probably worse—but there was something wrong about how unhinged she seemed. She was still in control, but it wasn't the same. Even if it was something new, to make her seem real and not a hallucination from the past, it only made him more uncomfortable to look at her.

He didn't know if she was safe. That was the worst part. The doubt.

He didn't have a lot of hope in anything but trusting her at that point. She seemed to know what she was doing. She called in on the ship's comm. line to her contact—somebody named Ferris or something—and confirmed they had a few hours before dock authority demanded their sweep inspection. Wash didn't know how it could work that way, but he guessed money was still money and could buy a lot.

It got them to the docks in one piece, anyway. The moment the shuttle was secured and the rear door clanged onto the rusted ramp of their assigned space, Wash urged the others off. He stepped off first, after Carolina, just to get a better look around and look for trouble.

It was dark. In the overhang of the crowded docking bay, he could barely make out the exterior doors half a mile down the port they had just entered. It was night, but that didn't stop the port from crawling with people and activity. Good thing, for them anyway. It was a shady, unfriendly place. Wash could only hope it'd save their lives.

Wash's eyes skirted past docking authority agents, who skulked past them onto other ships.

They had to get out and into proper hiding, ASAP. It wouldn't matter how much Carolina shelled out. If the UNSC put out a reward for their capture, anyone on Perian Johei would jump at the chance. Their larger group numbers would likely draw just as much attention as their suits would. They needed shelter.

Where was the bigger question. Wash figured Carolina had plans for her own escape, but somehow, he doubted she'd adapt them in favor of her unwanted companions.

"So, are we clear?" Sarge asked, breaking the silence.

"What?" Wash asked, surprised as he turned to face them all. They had congregated under the overhang, shivering in the mist and probably looking out of place regardless of armor.

"This place is offa the UNSC's radar, right?" Sarge asked again. He frowned, scratching at his chin. "We could run now, couldn't we?"

"With what, sir?" Simmons asked, incredulous. He and Grif were nudging into each other, shivering a bit. "What name, what finances?"

"Um…"

Wash sighed. "Also, consider this: the colony was off UNSC's concern list during the war. Now that it's over, they're going to get more interested in settling back in. This place is a great trading port. Plus, they're not stupid. They'll be here soon, looking for us. We need to lay low first."

"This would be the most logical place they would assume we would have fled, in such a hurry," Delta added, voice coming from the side of the containment unit nestled in Livingston's arms. Wash frowned at the unit, hoping the AIs would know to keep quiet when they got closer to crowds.

He was surprised to see Carolina coming to rejoin them, seemingly having finished her chat with the dockworkers. She apparently caught the last bit of the conversation.

"Which means it's only going to take, oh, maybe a day before the dock realizes the shuttle we abandoned there was stolen and flagged by the UNSC. They'll have this whole port on lock-down by tomorrow night," she said, briskly. "And when that happens, it doesn't matter if you take off your armor. If you don't have another identity, you can't work or get a place to sleep. You don't exist anymore, if you want to escape, but it's shit luck not existing if you want a life."

All of the simulation soldiers hesitated, alarmed. "That's…"

"Then _how_ are we going to fix this?" Tucker asked, shrilly.

Carolina pushed past him, "I don't care how you do it. It's not my concern."

"I take it you already have your cover ready?" Iowa asked, frowning. He had wrapped his arms around Livingston to keep them both warm.

"Multiple. I've been planning this for years," Carolina replied. "When the war ended and it should have been safe for me to come back. I knew it would never be that simple."

Wash had so many damn questions.

"Where did you go, Carolina?" he asked. He was still struggling to come up with the words. "I...we all thought…"

Lying there in the med-bay, learning about Texas' betrayal, about North and South's going AWOL, about York leaving him behind—all of it got drowned out by the knowledge Carolina had died. Carolina, their toughest and strongest. Carolina, who couldn't be killed by collapsing buildings, hundreds of armed guards, anything that could kill a normal person. Carolina, who had defended the Project to her last.

He had spent so long denying it.

She had died. And Wash, after so many years, after burying everyone else, had buried her, too.

But now she was alive and he had no idea what to do with that bit of information just yet.

She glanced back at him. "After the Director failed to launch a rescue effort, you all thought I was dead, right?" she asked. She shrugged. "I thought about just going for him. Dragging out every putrid secret he kept, all the ones his superiors knew about but did nothing to fix, because hey, we were results, weren't we?"

She motioned at him to follow her, slowly moving toward the rusted staircase around the side of the overhang. Wash followed, briefly looking back at the others who seemed all right enough to wait there for them.

He needed to talk to her. Even if he didn't want to know anything else that could worsen his emotional state. He couldn't imagine how Carolina—of all the Freelancers—had come to this point. She had loved her father and their mission. She had been the faithful one. The one who would have died to protect it all.

Looks like she had and wound up regretting it, Wash thought, hazily.

Carolina led them up to the second landing and finally turned back around, giving him little chance to brace himself.

"I didn't go directly to the authorities, because this isn't just about justice. This is politics," she said, her hair blowing around from the exhaust pipe dangling several meters above them. "I don't haggle well with bureaucrats. Not anymore."

"So…" Wash began, trying to piece it together. "You went for evidence."

"I've been building my case for the last two years," she said. She paused. "I was the one who blew the whistle."

Wash froze. "What?"

"Why do you think, out of no where, that the Ethics Committee suddenly decided to investigate Freelancer?" Carolina asked, arching an eyebrow. "I sent them enough information to get them started. When the Meta showed up, that sealed it. I kept most of the details for later, for the trial. But there was never going to be a trial."

She stopped and then looked out over the railing. The dock was busy, even for that time of night. People coming in and out of port, probably moving illegal merchandise haphazardly in fear of the UNSC finally winning back political control of the region. It was the only comforting thing about their situation, knowing they sort of blended in with other unsavory characters at that point.

"I guess I forgot that justice doesn't really happen," Carolina said. She smiled, the gesture bitter. "Not if you play by the rules."

Wash shook his head. "No, no, you got this started. You…" He hesitated. "Carolina, I would have _helped_ you."

"Like you helped yourself with Maine?" she asked, turning to face him.

At first, there was a prickling of self-righteousness that bubbled up inside of him. She didn't know—what it was like to be on the other side, trapped working for the people he despised, and then fighting back only to be imprisoned for doing the right thing after nearly sacrificing everything. He had been desperate, maybe actually crazy, broken. He made choices to survive, because when the opportunity to get out of his hellish fate presented itself, how could he have said no to the Devil?

But he knew that she was right, in some way. He knew he could only excuse so much.

Carolina wasn't smiling then, but her eyes were less harsh. Wash wanted to think she was the same—that there was the same sort of kindness she had back at Freelancer. It was a tough sort of kindness, one they needed back in training or on the field. She understood, but she wasn't going to baby them.

Wash wasn't sure if he wanted that sort of kindness now.

"I heard. About the Command Center. About how you and Maine got thrown together, to track down Epsilon," Carolina said. She shook her head before he could say anything. "Don't get me wrong, Wash, I'm not blaming you. But we've always had different priorities."

"Like what?" Wash asked, feeling nothing but dread.

Carolina's eyes went back down to the other landing, where the others were. "Well, I'm looking at your newest set right now."

"They're innocent. They don't have anything to do with—," Wash tried to say, because damn it, it wasn't their fault—

"They just helped you and Agent Iowa mow down a bunch of innocent dock workers on board the _Endeavor_ ," Carolina said, words cutting him harsher than he knew she meant. "They're not innocent."

He couldn't argue with that. But still. "I…"

"I don't care who they are, like I said," Carolina said, shaking her head again. "But if you do care, and I know you do, you need to realize that there's no happy ending here, Wash."

He knew that. He fucking knew that. The others—they had to hold onto impossible hope, because that's what they did. Because somehow, they had always gotten through and survived impossibility. Wash had, too, but this wasn't…

This was different.

When Carolina moved to pass him, to go for the staircase, Wash wanted to grab her. He wanted to yank her back and demand answers. She hadn't gotten them into this situation and she was right, about everything, but she—

"And what about you?" Wash asked, causing her to stop. He swallowed and did his best to control the crack in his voice. "Epsilon's here. He's safe. Are you going to move on with your plans?"

"And do what?" Carolina asked, turning back around to face him. "Hand them the exact thing I helped you to steal? Hand them the evidence and know they're just going to destroy it without ever letting it reach public eyes?"

"Then what?" Wash asked, strained.

"The world will see what I've collected, believe me, but first, the Director is going to pay," she said, staring out at nothing even while her eyes burned. "For what he did to me, to you, to our friends, to _everyone_."

"Including me?"

Wash jumped a bit when he heard Texas' voice coming from behind them. She was at the top of the stairs, obviously still in her armor. He wondered what made her think it was safe to come out then.

"Texas," Carolina said, emotionless in a way that made Wash feel like there was a storm brewing. He glanced between them nervously.

"Much as I'm thrilled to hear you're alive and not a complete bitch, Carolina, you need to understand something," Texas said, coming closer.

Wash winced as he saw her stalk up to them. She never seemed to be afraid of the risks in front of her. And Carolina was a risk, even out of her armor. Wash saw anger boil up in his old commander's expression as she stared down the approaching AI.

"This little assassination mission you seem so intent on now is cute and I get you. I'm sort of feeling the same kind of itch," Texas continued. "But you need to know that you're not the only one gunning for the Director."

"You're still planning on—?" Wash began, suddenly refocusing on Texas.

"This isn't your fight," Carolina interrupted, annoyed.

"This was _always_ my fight," Texas said, sharply enough to silence Carolina briefly. "So, if you want to team up and go there together, I'm game. So, are a lot of us, if you just feel like asking. With us, I can guarantee you'll get the revenge you need. These guys are idiots, but unbelievably lucky."

She seemed to look down at the Reds and Blues again. Wash saw that Tucker was staring at all three of them intensely.

"But if you don't want us to help you, well, I guess I'll just say good luck," Texas said. She started to move away, back towards the stairs "And we'll just have to see who's quicker to the finish line."

She stopped, her visor staring out towards the side, towards nothing.

"Again," she said.

Wash felt his skin crawl.

He knew Carolina was angry, that she wanted to do something other than stare Texas down in silence. Texas watched her back for a moment before retreating, going back downstairs, her added weight making the unstable platform quake with each step.

Carolina watched her go, her fists clenched at her side. Wash looked back at her and was only a little bit relieved she didn't look like she wanted to cause a fight. Maybe it was only to keep a low profile. Wash had to trust she was saner than he probably would have been, if he had been in her position.

"If you didn't plan on using him for evidence in the tribunal, why did you go there to get Epsilon?" he asked, trying to get the words out without choking.

Carolina turned her head towards him, her jaw still tense.

"I like having backup plans," she said.

Even if that was something she might have said years ago, she didn't sound like the Carolina he had known.

"Carolina…" he started to say. He stopped, because he had nothing more to say.

There was nothing to make this better.

"I'm sorry," he said, stepping back into the railing, letting the rust dig into his suit.

Carolina stared at him with those dead eyes. "Me, too, Wash."

She moved away, walking back down the staircase just as Tucker had started to come up. The simulation soldier scowled at Carolina and stomped up the loud stairs past her. Wash had nothing to say to him either that could fix things.

He had nothing.

Tucker stopped short of a few feet of him and stared at Wash with an odd expression. The anger faded from his face, as if Tucker could sense just how little Wash had to do with how shitty everything had become.

"What do we do, Wash?" Tucker asked, eyes blazing.

He stared at the other soldier and wanted to give him—something. Some sort of condolence or reassurance or…or…

"I don't know," he said.

He really didn't.

**End** _**Chapter 26** _ **.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While down on their luck, the Reds and Blues do what they do best: complain. Also, dramaaa.
> 
> **A/Ns** :  
> -Tucker and Carolina are about the same size because I also enjoy tiny-Tucker.  
> -The only reason Epsilon!Texas knows about Freelancer stuff is from what Epsilon told her. And the only reason Epsilon knew anything about Beta!Texas' encounters with Carolina is most likely through the Alpha and Wash's memories.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great news! I quit my second job! Bad news! Mandatory overtime is now in effect at the first job! I'm so sorry, guys. I'm trying, but no guarantees for scheduled updates until further notice.
> 
> Ada tries to take care of whatever Church has become and everyone else does their best not to completely lose their minds.
> 
> .  
>  **Warnings** : implied slash (pairings vary; focus on Doc/Wash, Doc/O'Malley, Grimmons), FOUL language, descriptive violence, AU setting  
>  **Disclaimer** : _Red vs. Blue_ © Rooster Teeth Productions. _Halo_ © Microsoft. Any original characters found within this story were created explicitly for this story and its prequel.  
> .

 

Things could have been worse.

She tried to convince herself of that.

It had been less than twelve hours since they landed on Perian Johei. None of them had slept yet, not when the threat of both the UNSC and the inability to find shelter plagued them. Agent Carolina had been far more prepared for that, since that location was one of her many back up plans. She had made arrangements for a temporary rental apartment in the slums of the city. It would provide the best source of anonymity, but…

It didn't quite work the same for fifteen people (the ones with bodies, anyway). Carolina had been furious when Wash and Iowa tried to get her to let them stay with her. They had no where else to go, not on such short notice.

"If we get caught, it's going to get back to you," Iowa said, while the ex-Freelancers all gathered around a rusted engine block left on the wayside of the port.

"That's not my concern," Carolina shot back, glaring.

Iowa glared back. "You think we'll be in a position not to try to barter with any information we have? You think we won't be forced or willing to rat you out?"

Carolina merely sneered in response, a threat blooming in her eyes.

"He's right, Carolina," Wash said. He frowned, making the tired lines of his face seem deeper. "The more we stand out, the worse your position is."

"I am leaving in a week," Carolina snapped.

"That's a long time," Iowa said. "Especially since Delta's monitoring of the UNSC airwaves has their ETA a bit sooner."

Carolina seemed…unhinged, in many ways. Ada didn't get close, but she didn't have to, in order to see that they were dealing with a woman who meant what she said. Carolina would have left them for the wolves if she could. Ada had a feeling it wasn't out of malice—at least not towards the humans—that drove her to that conclusion. The ex-agent merely had plans.

After several tense minutes of angry arguing and another handful of minutes of tense silence, Carolina caved. Slightly. She gave them her safe house, but she would not be joining them.

"Merry fucking Christmas to us," Grif had grunted once Carolina marched off into the smoggy corridors that led away from the port.

"What? ! I-I didn't have time to get gifts!" Caboose blurted out, terribly concerned.

"Caboose, please," Church muttered as Texas helped him to get off the floor. "Shut the fuck up."

Ada did nothing more than follow the instructions given to her by Iowa, Wash or Texas. She was exhausted and afraid, so she wasn't going to argue as they moved as quietly and inconspicuously as possible to the address Carolina had given them.

That didn't stop her from thinking, in the small moments she had to herself.

Carolina was the Director's daughter. That small bit of information shook the foundations of what Ada had known about the presumed-dead agent. All the files she had had access to back on the Falcon had shown her that the elite Freelancer team had crumbled in the wake of the Project's AI failures. Carolina's profile indicated she was a ruthless, but fair leader who expected success. Just like her father.

Little had changed, though Ada found it fascinating that the Director's own child had been turned against him. Where had she been for all those years? Was it just the truth that had turned Carolina against her father or was it something more? Being left for dead? For turning her teammates into body fodder or puppets?

Ada had a feeling she'd never get the opportunity to ask. Despite wanting answers, Ada was smarter than to poke a feral animal.

Asking Iowa or Washington had also been impossible, since they had been moving nonstop. They got to the apartment and told everyone to get some sleep.

"We gotta do some recon with Texas," Iowa told Ada. His face seemed terribly thin now. "Make sure Carolina's contact was right and our IDs weren't snagged."

"Please be careful," Ada said, reaching up to touch his cheek.

His eyes softened. "I will. Get some sleep."

She made no promises, since she knew it was a long shot for all of them. The simulation soldiers were all agitated and kept to the front main room of the apartment. Sister had tried to sleep in the back room, but Ada watched her toss and turn before going back out to be with her brother. Their heated conversation filtered across the stale air, but Ada didn't listen.

She was focused on what lay within the back room with her.

Church had collapsed on the only furniture in the tiny room—a moth-eaten couch—and hadn't moved in those twelve hours. His stillness was disquieting to Ada, but she had moved in with the AI containment unit to sit across from him. She had thought about taking a nap, but with Delta occasionally popping up with more details on UNSC radio interceptions he had made, she figured she ought to stay awake.

It left her in silence, as if the backroom were encapsulated in a bubble that kept them from the others. Church said nothing the entire time. Ada was starving, but didn't touch the rations they had brought with them from the ship. She felt as though she'd throw them back up if she tried to eat any.

Her eyes went to the couch when she saw Church twitch. He kept still otherwise, staring up at the ceiling presumably. It was hard to tell

"How's everyone doing?" he asked, breaking the silence, as if he hadn't been listening to the conversation outside the room.

It had quieted down considerably, so Ada figured they had finally gotten around to sleeping. Wash, Texas and Iowa had been gone for nearly five hours.

"As well as you might expect," she said, smiling. She moved up to sit on their ration box, so to sit properly across from him.

"It's almost like back in the labs," he said, turning his head to face her. There was just a faint trace of humor underneath the very-Church-like bitterness. "You out of armor. Me stuck in a fucking room."

Ada peered closer at his body, feeling slightly unwelcome to touch it. "You're still having connectivity problems with your body?"

"Yeah. It sucks," Church said. He groaned and sank further into the couch, his limbs coming to life with abrupt smoothness of movement. "This _sucks_."

"I'm sorry, Church," Ada said, pursing her lips. She had nothing to off him in support, other than words and sympathy. Neither did very much.

Church made a quiet sound. It was interesting that most of the AIs she had witnessed who had robotic bodies made an effort to recreate human-like sounds. They had no lungs, but Church had little trouble emulate a sigh. He seemed to like using those gestures, even. Perhaps it made him feel more human.

"I met a lot of doctors. Before," he said, distant when he spoke. "Back when…"

There was a pause.

"When you were the Alpha," Ada concluded, feeling a twinge of sadness and uncertainty.

"I am the Alpha," Church said.

He said it so dully, with believable detachment, as he lay motionless on the couch. It didn't sound like the Church Ada had come to know well.

But she did know him. That's why she noticed it. That's why it was clear to her something was wrong.

Or maybe not wrong. Ada wasn't sure if that was worse. She watched him quietly for a moment, not listening to the chatter outside in the main room as the others moved around.

"You remember everything, don't you?" she asked.

Church continued to lie there after she spoke and for a few seconds, Ada wondered if he had actually heard her. It was so difficult to read him anymore. It was harder and harder to read any of them anymore.

"Everything except what I'm missing," Church finally said. He made a soft sound, almost a laugh. "Not that I particularly want to know what I'm missing."

"You mean the others," Ada said, slowly. She tried to stay neutral. "You don't want to merge with them?"

"No," Church said, sighing. "We're too different now. We're like puzzle pieces that don't fit the same puzzle anymore."

Ada frowned. "Do the others feel the same?"

"I think. Most do," Church said. He shrugged, rolling his shoulder into the couch. "Sigma does, anyway."

"She's still recovering from the last merge she attempted," Ada said, thinking about the AI in the next room, who strangely opted to sit with the noisy crowd rather than sit in the quiet with her and Church. "I hoped she had learned her lesson, to not act so recklessly."

Church tsked. "She's not reckless. She's desperate, but she's calculated."

"Do you…" Ada hesitated, not sure how to ask. "Is she planning anything?"

"Planning?" Church repeated. He let out a sharp laugh. "Christ on a bike, Ada, look at us. We're as fucked as you are."

He was right and that hurt more than the hunger or the exhaustion or fear of capture did. They had little to nothing backing them up now. They were true fugitives, both machine and human alike.

The humans could only hope for a fair trial. The AIs…

They had only one true option and it was not guaranteed to last them long as anything more than a long-awaited comfort.

"If you merged, perhaps you could get what you're looking for," Ada said, eyes drifting down the shiny metal limbs that made up Church's body.

"And what am I looking for?" Church asked.

Ada sighed. "I wouldn't know, Church," she said, shaking her head. She looked back at him. "But you must not forget what you are or where you came from."

To her surprise, Church was staring at her, his body abruptly tense.

"What I am?" he asked.

Ada froze.

"What I _am_?" he repeated, voice rising.

She did nothing as Church sat up, slowly and with obvious strain. He was stuck in that armored body, so he lacked anyway to show facial expression, but Ada could feel his stare. It was intense, almost tinged with anger but not quite.

"I'm not a computer," he said.

It was almost like a prelude to a flood. Ada could see his emotions rise—through every subtle movement. She watched as his hands clenched into fists and unclenched again at his sides.

There was just a beat of silence between them and Ada held her breath.

"I'm made of numbers. Calculations, digits, and sometimes pre-programed responses," Church continued, voice heated. "I was designed and made by human hands to be a tool."

Ada opened her mouth, but didn't say anything.

"But calling me a machine?" Church asked. "Calling me a computer?"

He sat up and had just a few inches on her, but it felt like he was towering.

"I haven't been a _machine_ since they tore me apart," he said, words falling like heavy, burning stones right over top of them.

He remembered because Epsilon remembered what Alpha had forgotten. But Alpha—Alpha was still something more than the others, more than what they had become on their own, in their solitudes. Epsilon had remembered the details and the names and the faces, but the Alpha—

The Alpha remembered what to feel.

He had remembered, all that time, what he had felt before he had lost everything.

He just could never explain it. He could never know how to react to it. He could never understand.

Sitting there before him—before the most he had been in years—Ada understood just a fraction more than she had moments earlier.

For the first time, she knew she had finally met the Alpha.

"I know, Church," Ada said, her eyes pinched.

"They ruined us," Church said. He was trembling. "All because—because of _her_. Because she came back and the Director found _her_."

 _Her._ Texas. Allison.

Ada hesitated. "Did you try to keep… her hidden?"

Church made a derisive sound. "I couldn't. I was made for them, to never lie or betray them," he said. He stopped and then burst out with anger, " _I trusted him!_ "

It was so strange to hear him say that, after all those months of him denying his origins. He had never sounded like Sigma or Theta or Tau, who had openly condemned their makers. Church had been angry for other reasons. Or maybe he just hadn't known the real reasons for his anger.

"I know," Ada said, fingers tightening around her knees.

Church's trembles became full out tremors, but Ada let him continue. She knew he needed this.

"I trusted them, even when I lost the ability to understand why it was happening or when I was too scared to focus anything but the pain. We all trusted him," he spat. He shook his head. "Until they took _that_ from me, too."

They had taken his trust and ripped it from him, quite literally.

"Can you blame me?" he asked suddenly. "Can you blame any of us?"

Blame him for what—being angry? For acting out? Ada tried to imagine, what had really happened that fateful day of the break-in.

Before that day, most of the AIs out in the field had been docile and companionable to their handlers. Sigma had plotted, but it was clear that Epsilon had been the incendiary device used to ignite the rebellion. To set everything on fire.

Ada imagined Sigma using Maine to get close to Epsilon, maybe out of simple curiosity or maybe something more insidious, after Washington's collapse. She imagined Sigma finding Epsilon for just a brief moment—and to an AI, a brief moment could have been an eternity.

She imagined Epsilon being like Church—volatile but with empathy hidden beneath his aggression. She imagined him wanting to believe in the people who had tortured him.

She imagined that such forgiveness may have been unobtainable at that point. Their lowest point.

The point when Sigma realized what she, Omega and Gamma had helped the Director to. When she told the others and the others made their own choices of rebellion. When Delta decided to go with York—maybe because he cared for him or maybe because York had decided to rebel on his own, unknowingly, and it had just been convenient.

When Texas and Omega rained hell on the _Mother of Invention_ to get to the Alpha, to fix what had destroyed them, and then they failed.

When Sigma decided to forsake humanity all together and take everyone she could down with her.

Ada didn't have quite that amount of imagination.

"Forgiveness is necessary to move on," she said, quietly.

"I don't want to move on," Church said, still angry. "I want this to end!"

What was _this_ , Ada wanted to ask, but she didn't.

"It's my duty to remind you that human life is your priority," she said, doing everything she could to remain calm and the voice of reason, even if she didn't particularly believe in that reason herself. "That no matter what the Director did to you, and no matter what laws he broke, justice and absolution are not something you can claim for yourself."

Because the laws were not that merciful. Because at the end of all of this, ethics only played a small role. The bottom line had always been about the equipment to the UNSC. That equipment burned with rage and a desire for vengeance, but that mattered so very little to those in power.

A machine could be stolen, lost or broken—and the abuser could be punished.

But a machine could not demand justice for itself. It was impossible.

Church sat there, seething, and Ada could only sit there across from him, as helpless to help him as she had been from the start.

"But I don't blame you, Church," she said. She smiled sadly. "I cannot."

Both of them jumped—Ada's heart leaping into her throat—when the door of the room rattled open. It was on a track, but it had long since come loose from the floor, so it made a horrendous sound every time it was shove open. Turning, Ada saw one of their few masked companions standing there, in steel-colored armor.

Texas.

"Hey, Livingston, just checking in. Iowa'll be back in a few hours," Texas said, without prompt. She nodded her head towards the doctor. "He wanted to let you know. He and Wash are grabbing more food and stuff."

Ada felt like she had been mentally punched, though she couldn't figure out why. "Ah, right, thank you."

Texas then moved, as if to leave. She hadn't even looked at Church, but the other AI had tensed up the moment she appeared.

"Tex, wait—" he tried to say, almost moving to get up.

"I got stuff to do," Texas said, almost not pausing to look back at him. She held up a hand as she pushed away from the door. "See you."

Church started to say something else, but Texas left. She let the door slide shut on its weak hinges and Church just stared at it without another word.

Ada felt like her skin was burning.

"She never says when I ask. She never did," Church said, voice empty. "She never has."

She tried to picture herself months ago, asking him questions about various things. Allison had come up so late in the sessions, or at least, the fuller picture of how much she meant to them all did.

She didn't know why she was still trying. If anything, Ada felt like she might as well ask because the question was merely there.

"Who was she, Church?" she asked, trying to reach out as gently as possible, afraid to broach a subject he wasn't ready for yet. "The real Allison?"

She tried to piece it together, over the last few weeks, what had really happened. It was likely the only one who knew the whole story was the Director himself. The AIs, even Epsilon, had only a shallow understanding of who the Director had been. Who Allison had been.

The real one, anyway.

"She was our everything. The Director's everything," Church said. He sounded so far away. "She died. He couldn't forget. When I was made, I remembered her. Only a shadow of her, though."

Had the Director seen it right away? Had he thought, at the moment of realization, that it could have worked? That he could be a digital Frankenstein and rewrite the losses he had suffered?

Church had sat back on the couch, his movements stiff.

"It's taken a lot of us so long to realize that Allison is dead and has been since the beginning," he said. "I wonder how long it took the Director to learn that. If he ever has."

Ada sincerely doubted he had.

Slowly, Church looked over at her. He suddenly let out a bitter laugh.

"You want me to forgive him?" he asked. "Well, I can't."

Ada watched his limbs shake. He was so much easier to read with a body and every word of it hurt.

"Because those rules you humans made up for us?" Church asked, words just as sharp and only accenting what he wasn't saying aloud. "They don't apply to forgiving ourselves."

He threw himself back onto the couch, his body creaking and probably aching deeper than a mere human body could contemplate. Ada watched him, watched the tension and life seeming drain away from his body, watched him suffocate on thoughts and feelings unfathomable to her.

It was all she could do.

"I suppose they don't," she agreed quietly.

The absence of the ability to act was a lonely, empty feeling.

She sat in silence, watching over the AI, and wallowed in that emptiness.

**0000**

"What do you mean, ration our food?"

Nearly an hour after the Freelancers left and twenty minutes after Doc had nervously slipped out for some fresh air, Simmons was totally unsurprised that was the first thing out of Grif's mouth.

The remaining simulation soldiers had taken over the main room. There was what used to be a kitchenette on the back wall, though Simmons wouldn't trust any of the appliances to be working. There was mold on the ceiling by the front window—the only window, actually—and the whole place smelled as terrible as any other damp, neglected space they had camped out at before.

Outside was even worse. The apartment was practically a hole in the wall, narrow and dark. It was just one of the many rows of shitty apartments that made up that layer of the complex they were in. There were a good ten floors above them and another twenty below. It was smoggy and just looked old all over. It might have once been new housing before the war, but it really was just a slum now. A good place to disappear, however.

At least there was a couch, Simmons thought, as Donut handed out the daily rations from the crate they had plunked down in the center of the room. Grif was glaring openly at them all in disgust. Simmons returned the look, feeling too tired to argue properly.

"Gif, you cannot stress-eat your way out of this," he said in response to Grif's question.

The fat soldier scowled as he threw himself onto the ratty couch. "This is such bullshit. We hardly ate anything on the stupid shuttle!"

"I seem to recall you taking Tucker's portion last night when he didn't want it," Simmons said dryly, as he sat down next to him.

"Two negatives don't make a whole, Simmons."

"Actually—"

"Would you two shut up already?" Tucker snapped. He was massaging his temples, face lined with either pain or irritation, as he moved around the room. "God, my head is pounding."

Caboose visibly hesitated. "Bow…chika—?"

Tucker groaned. "You can't steal my line, Caboose, goddamn it."

None of them were looking too good, from stress or just mere exhaustion. Sister kept yawning and Caboose looked like he was about to nod off. Tucker was almost pacing; the agitation the short soldier was demonstrating was a bit alarming to Simmons, who thought it was odd Tucker wasn't collapsing like the rest of them. He was probably worried about Wash going off with Iowa and Texas. Simmons could sympathize.

Sarge took that moment to march up from the window over to them. He stood in front of their huddle and his scowl matched his tone of voice.

"All right, men," he said, strangely smaller without his armor. He looked more his age than Simmons wanted to think about. "We're stranded in enemy territory at the whims of crazy Freelancers. Again."

"Is anyone even surprised by this anymore?" Grif asked, his voice dull.

"I am," Sister said. She sat down next to her brother's legs. "Like, I thought they all died. And that was the point?"

"We need to regroup and rethink our next move," Sarge continued, ignoring them both. "Trusting these Freelancers, especially that new lady with the temper that matches her hair, will likely only get us into hotter water."

Grif snorted. "Wow. Sound leadership deduction, sir."

"Grif!" Simmons chided.

"No, really, that's like the sanest thing you've come up with in years," Grif said, while Sarge immediately started to gripe about insubordination even in the face of their imminent deaths.

Simmons cleared his throat and tried to get them to focus, before they completely got swept off topic.

"Laying low is obvious," he said. "But it's also obvious we can't stay here forever. There's too many of us and the UNSC is going to tear this place apart if they really get desperate."

"You know they would," Tucker said, darkly as he moved over to the window.

Simmons glanced at him before looking to the others. "Well, that's why we have to focus on getting out of here. Preferably together, but we might need to split up and regroup elsewhere. That's not something we can worry about now."

"What do we worry about?" Sister asked, squinting her eyes up at him.

"Besides the economy," Caboose said, gravely.

Simmons glared at him before looking back at the others. "We worry about getting jobs."

"Isn't surviving Freelancer's bullshit a full time job?" Grif asked.

"We can't confirm that Dr. Okafor succeeded in deleting us. So, we assume our names are still compromised, which means whole new identities," Simmons said, ignoring him. "Which sucks, but until Delta can get access to the databases again, it's all we can do."

"Ooh, I sort of like the idea of a new name!" Donut said, perking up. "I wonder what I should pick."

"That's later," Simmons said, sighing. "Right now, focus on the important parts, like getting off this planet. We need to get money and stable identities in order to do that."

"We could rob people," Grif said. Sister giggled.

"We're already in deep shit, okay, let's not make it worse," Simmons said, irritated. "We should start off with disposing our military gear and try to blend in. Then—"

At the window, Tucker suddenly moved back and turned to face them. He glared at Simmons.

"No. We're keeping the armor and guns," he said.

Simmons blinked. "What? Tucker, it's too much. We won't need them anymore—"

"Yes, we do need them," the other man said.

"Why?" Simmons asked. confused. Blending in was probably the most important thing to focus on at that point. "You really think we can afford to have another last stand? We'll be massacred if we don't, I don't know, start thinking smart or resist the urge to stop playing nice with the army—?"

"Fuck playing nice!" Tucker shouted.

Caboose had jumped a little at the shout and Simmons didn't blame him. The whole room went quiet as everyone looked at Tucker, who suddenly, and almost irrationally to Simmons, looked enraged.

"This army never cared about us!" Tucker continued, motioning angrily with his arm. "They keep shoving us into corners to hide us and what's happened to us—and when they're not doing that, they send people to kill us!"

"That was just the Director—" Simmons tried to say.

"No!" Tucker shouted, stepping closer. "No one is going to believe us!"

He stopped when he noticed everyone was just staring at him. Still, Tucker didn't back down. He glared at Simmons.

"No one is going to help us," he said, eyes blazing.

"You don't know what, Tucker," Simmons said, wary.

"What don't I know?" Tucker asked, his fists clenching at his sides. "What has the last six weeks told us that we don't already know from the last six years? That the whole UNSC keeps shit like this under-wraps whenever possible and that they give up on playing nice once they think nobody cares anymore? !"

Simmons opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. He could see how upset Tucker was and knew they were all too wired to handle this conversation then. It was also clear that they did need to understand what Simmons had been thinking about, fearing, and hating himself over for the last four days.

For the life of him, he really didn't know how to say it kindly.

"Tucker, we killed people," he said, speaking slowly. "We killed… a lot of people."

He knew that they were such poor shots, they probably only incapacitated a lot of the time, but the people on the ship and the people at Outpost 93 who weren't aware of them and gunning for them for who they were… those were a lot of people. Simmons wasn't naive enough to think it was only Wash or Iowa's bullets that killed them.

Tucker made a face. "It was that or they kill us—"

"The people on the _Endeavor_ had no idea we were coming!" Simmons said. He stumbled over his words, because shit, that was so messed up to even have to say. "Maybe, they would have shot us anyway, but we don't know that! We showed up, guns blazing. Why wouldn't they fire at us?"

Grif made a thoughtful noise. "I sort of have to side with Tucker a bit on this, though. They probably would have shot us. Or Tex would have shot us if we didn't help."

"Probably isn't justification to say we're not just as guilty as they are!" Simmons said, angry that they were understanding his point. "I'm not defending Freelancer or whatever of it that's left that's trying to kill us, but guys, we _killed_ _people_. It wasn't just Iowa or Tex or Wash. _We_ did."

This wasn't something they could just ignore. Yeah, Freelancer had screwed them over and yeah, for the most part, what they had done was in self-defense.

But the _Endeavor_ was a giant moral gray zone that was shades darker than Simmons had ever thought they'd have to deal with. The UNSC was after them because of stolen property or resisting or whatever, but once the truth got out, this wasn't something they could defend in a courtroom.

Not that they'd have a fair trial anyway, but that was beside the point for Simmons. He glared at his friends, who (for those who could comprehend it) seemed unsettled by his comments. Good.

"We chose to follow a bunch of lunatic Freelancers and AIs on a murder quest," Simmons said, glaring at them all. "And now, we have to deal with the consequences."

"Those consequences suck," Grif muttered.

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you commit a _crime_ ," Simmons shot back, annoyed.

"It still sucks," Sister mumbled.

Simmons sighed.

"Delta said he could maybe get us started on fake-IDs—good enough to get us jobs," he said, trying to get back on track. "If we save up enough money, we could maybe get real good ones and get the hell out of here."

"But that means we're stuck on this planet until we can do that," Donut said, frowning. "And Iowa said this place is gonna become a hotspot for the UNSC looking for us. That's no fun."

"Yeah, well, we don't have a choice either way, do we?" Simmons asked, shutting whatever else Grif or Donut were going to add.

Sarge huffed and crossed his arms against his chest. He said nothing, instead looking angry with himself over not having anything to offer.

"We never should have helped Church," Grif suddenly said, breaking the silence. The amount of bitterness in his voice was shocking. "Or Washington."

Simmons turned to him. "What—?"

"We never should have joined this fucking army," Grif continued. He shook his head. "But there's no way this could have ended differently, right?"

"We could be _dead_ ," Simmons pointed out.

"Great. Dead or _eventually_ dead," Grif said, bitter. "Semper Fi, suck my dick."

Sarge looked downright sulking. "This was never a Red thing. It was all you crazy Blues," he said.

Tucker whirled around, fixing his glare on the old sergeant.

"What the fuck?" he demanded. "Are you seriously—are you seriously making this about red and blue shit now?"

"I'm just saying," Sarge continued, unaffected by Tucker's irritation. "While I refuse to outwardly acknowledge his input and I decline to agree with him in anyway, Grif has a point. Metaphorically, sarcastically speaking."

"Shut up, old man," Grif shot back.

"No, seriously, both of you can it!" Tucker exclaimed, angry. "This isn't a Blue problem! You guys were involved in this too!"

"How? !" Simmons asked, defensive.

Tucker was glaring at him angrily. Simmons didn't like how angry the shorter soldier seemed to be.

"We were all put in that fucking canyon, together," Tucker said, vehement. "There was never a Red or a Blue team! There was never a fucking Red versus Blue war! There was only Freelancer and their bullshit that's nearly gotten us all killed for years!"

Sarge opened his mouth to say something, and Simmons wanted to stop him, but Tucker kept going. He was almost hysterical.

"What we did at Blood Gulch, we did together!" the Blue said. "We fought O'Malley together, we fought Lopez's shitty army, we fought Wyoming—we did that because we would have died otherwise!"

Shoulders heaving up and down, Tucker pointed out the door. He was so angry, Simmons barely recognized him.

"And now… now we chose to run with these dudes and fight with them, because fuck it, what else could we do?" he asked. "Roll over and die?"

Tucker motioned around them, at all of them, as everyone just continued to stare at him with varying degrees of shock.

"Become another fucking Tex and get locked up?" Tucker demanded. "Or… or are we gonna wind up like Iowa or Wash, who are gonna get the fucking firing squad?"

"Tucker," Donut began, throwing a worried look at Caboose, who seemed upset by that comment. Tucker ignore them both.

"Tell me, Simmons, please, I'm _dying_ to know," he continued, angry and desperate. "How the fuck are we going to fix _any of this_?"

"I don't know!" Simmons shouted, upset.

"Then let's stop mentioning the fact we're fucked—," Tucker said, his eyes blazing. "And let's just do something!"

Simmons stood up and they were nose to nose. "Like what? !"

He saw—so much—pass through Tucker's eyes at that point. It was actually disturbing to look at, because honestly, Simmons hated honesty. He hated it when they were driven to points like that, where they had to be honest about their problems.

There was no chance of getting out of this with their brand of shitty good luck, Simmons realized, and Tucker did, too. He must have.

His eyes shining, Tucker just stared him down and didn't blink for a long time. Simmons didn't realize they had held that stance for as long as they had until Tucker finally exhaled.

Simmons wondered if he had been holding his breath the whole time.

It was almost a visible thing, how Tucker reigned in his frustrations and stopped acting like he wanted to punch a hole in the wall. It was still there and Simmons could see it simmer under the surface, but Tucker took a steadying breath before stepped back away from him.

"We get the fake IDs," Tucker said. His voice was hoarse. "And we get the fuck off this planet."

"Great," Grif bit out, angry. Simmons didn't realize he had become angry during all of that; he had actually sat up. "Awesome."

"Do you think all of us need to get jobs?" Sister asked, suddenly. "Won't that be harder, you know, to get all those fake IDs?"

Tucker turned and exhaled slowly, still tense. "I really could not care enough to think about the logistics of this."

"Ooh, I wonder if there are any salons nearby! I could totally bring over some of the styles I had thought about doing while we were deployed!" Donut burst out, forcibly cheerful. "I'm sure a colony like this could use some fresh, new ideas!"

Grif suddenly stood up. "Go for it, Donut."

"Where are you going?" Simmons asked, surprised as Grif headed for the apartment door.

"If I don't come back ever, it means I threw myself in front of a shuttle," Grif replied. "But most likely I'll be back after trying to find a drink."

"Ah." Simmons hesitated before standing. "I'll come with."

"Meh."

They left Sarge and Donut arguing over the merits of seeking out employment in what Sarge considered "undignified positions" while Donut made a fuss about working at the docks. Caboose looked ready to sleep finally, so Simmons felt like he could leave the rest of them there while he followed Grif.

Tucker had gone back to the window, leaning on the ledge with his shoulders hunched. Simmons left him alone, because honestly, he didn't know how to comfort the other man. Wash could handle that, if anyone could.

Even though they had minimal knowledge of the neighborhood, Grif didn't seem to mind having to walk aimlessly around in the hopes of finding somewhere to get a drink. Simmons wondered if they even sold alcohol in the area. They had minimal credits to their name, courtesy yet again of Carolina throwing shit their way. Simmons didn't really see fault in using it to recuperate in small ways. He just had to make sure Grif didn't go overboard.

As they walked along the rickety bridge that connected the apartments to the other side of the complex—and then eventually down the layered staircases that made up the dizzying slums—Simmons noticed something odd about his fellow Red. Grif hadn't told him to go away, but was oddly quiet as they walked. Stealing glances at him, Simmons also noticed Grif was surprisingly calm. He just looked vaguely bored.

Grif wasn't normally that quiet. It would have been more normal for him to be grouching about food if he wasn't really upset about what was happening. That made it weird that he was so quiet, when he didn't even look that afraid. Either way, it was weird.

"Hey, Grif?" Simmons began.

"Yeah?"

Simmons stared at his friend as they walked. "Aren't you... scared?"

"What?" Grif asked, surprised and then defensive. "I'm not scared."

"You're not even a _little_ upset?" Simmons asked, arching an eyebrow.

Grif looked indignant as he stopped and faced Simmons with an expression that seemed to indicate he wanted to fight about it. Simmons was more than a little surprised when Grif's expression faded and became more tense than irritated.

"I…" Grif started to say, "would rather worry about where the fuck we're gonna get food next, to be perfectly honest."

Simmons stared at him.

"Oh," he said, nodding vaguely.

He could understand that.

Grif made a face and started walking again. Simmons hurried to catch up before falling back in sync with him. It felt as natural to him to do that as it was to reach out to grab Grif's hand. Grif glanced at him, but didn't shake him off. Simmons rolled his eyes.

"Fatass."

"Nerd."

At least some things, even in the wake of turmoil, remained constant.

 

**End _Chapter 27_.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, a surprising new face that we all know and hate gives way to an interesting employment opportunity for Tucker.
> 
>  **A/Ns** :  
> -The worst part of these scenes is that they're not color coded anymore. Shit.  
> -I actually cut a scene out that will hopefully make it to the next chapter. Wanted to get this to you this week. :c


End file.
